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FROM  PILLAR  TO  POST 


'I   shall   have   to   borrow    some   of   your 
manly    courage    to    carry    me    through." 


FROM  PILLAR  TO  POST 

LEAVES  FROM  A  LECTURER'S  NOTE-BOOK 


BY 


JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 

Author  of  "The  House-Boat  on  the  Styx,"  Etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

JNO.  R.  NEILL 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1917 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
AssociATKD  Sunday  Magazinks  Incorporated 


Fuhlished,  March,  1916 


TO 

THAT  WISE  COUNSELLOR 

AND  STERLING  FRIEND 

J.  HENRY  HARPER 


633164 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

I  could  not  let  these  random  notes  of  a  delight- 
ful experience  go  forth  into  the  world  without  ex- 
pressing in  some  way  my  deep  appreciation  of  the 
valued  services  rendered  me  in  my  ten  years  of 
platform  work  by  my  friends  of  the  Lyceum  Bu- 
reaus. In  office  and  in  the  field  they  have  labored 
strenuously,  often  affectionately,  and  always  loy- 
ally, on  my  behalf.  But  for  their  interest  some  of 
the  most  cherished  experiences  of  my  life  would 
have  been  beyond  my  reach.  If  sometimes  in 
their  zeal  to  keep  me  busy  they  have  booked  me  in 
Winnipeg  on  Monday  night,  in  New  Orleans  on 
Tuesday  night,  with  little  side-trips  to  San  Diego, 
California,  and  Presque  Isle,  Maine,  on  Wednes- 
day and  Thursday,  not  to  mention  grand  finales 
at  Omaha  and  Key  West  on  Friday  and  Saturday, 
I  view  that  sequence  rather  as  a  tribute  to  my  agil- 
ity than  as  a  matter  to  be  unduly  captious  about. 
It  is  a  manifestation  of  a  confidence  in  my  powers 
to  overcome  the  limitations  of  time  and  space  that 
I  think  upon  with  an  expanding  head,  if  not  with 


Prefatory  Note 

a  swelling  heart,  and  whether  this  required  anni- 
hilation of  distance  has  been  wholly  agreeable  or 
not  it  has  enabled  me  to  see  more  of  my  own  coun- 
try than  I  otherwise  could  have  seen,  and  to  that 
extent,  I  hope,  has  made  a  better  American  of  me. 

Wherefore  before  beginning  our  ramble  from 
Pillar  to  Post  I  record  here  in  testimony  of  my 
gratitude  to  them  the  names  of  Arthur  C.  Coit,  and 
Louis  J.  Alber,  of  the  Coit  Lyceum  Bureau  of 
Cleveland,  Ohio ;  of  Frank  A.  Morgan,  of  the  Mu- 
tual Lyceum  Bureau,  of  Chicago ;  of  Kenneth  M. 
White,  of  the  White  Entertainment  Bureau  of 
Boston ;  of  S.  Russell  Bridges,  of  the  Alkahest  Ly- 
ceum System  of  Atlanta,  Georgia ;  of  J.  B.  Pond, 
Jr.,  and  that  tried  friend  both  in  the  Lyceum  field 
and  out  of  it,  William  C.  Glass,  of  the  J.  B.  Pond 
Lyceum  Bureau  of  New  York. 

Thanks  are  due  to  the  publishers  of  Every  Week 
for  courtesies  extended,  and  finally  I  desire  to 
inscribe  a  word  of  affectionate  esteem  for  my 
friends,  J.  Thomson  Willing,  and  that  inspiring 
editorial  guide  and  mentor,  William  A.  Taylor,  of 
the  Associated  Sunday  Magazines,  under  whose 
genial  direction  these  papers  were  first  presented 
to  the  public.  jQjj^  Kendrick  Bangs. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I     GETTING    USED    TO   IT 3 

II     SOUTHERN    HOSPITALITY 23 

III  GETTING  THE  LEVEL 40 

IV  THE    GOOD    SAMARITAN 61 

V     A  VAGRANT  POET 83 

VI     BACK-HANDED    COMPLIMENTS 98 

VII     FRIENDS  OF  THE  ROAD 116 

VIII     CHAIRMEN  I  HAVE  MET 134 

IX     CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCES 155 

X     HUMORS  OF  THE   ROAD 175 

XI     MINE  HOST 196 

XII     PERILS  OP  THE  PLATFORM 220 

XIII  EMBARRASSING    MOMENTS 243 

XIV  "SLINGS    AND    ARROWS" 266 

XV     EMERGENCIES 290 

XVI     A  PIONEER  MANAGER 318 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  I  shall  have  to  borrow  some  of  your  manly  courage 

to   carry   me   through " ,    Frontispiece 

"  It  was  indeed  a  pretty  sight  to  me ! " 21 

"  Yes,  and  you  are  fifty  years  behind  us  in  every  other 

respect!" 28 

I  knew  that  I  had  met  a  "  Southern  Gentleman  "  .  .31 
"  The  consciously  superior  person  cannot  last  long  on 

the  lecture   platform " 43 

"If  there  's  anything  you  want  to  know  about  Darwin's 

Origin  of  Species,  you  ask  me!" 60 

"  I  cannot  say  that  his  first  remark  was  wholly  cordial "  70 
"  I  'm  an  Ohio  man,  and  I  '11  cash  the  check  for  you  on 

your    looks " '59 

In  the  last   stages   of  poverty 85 

"  Suffering   Centipedes ! "   he   cried.     "  That   man   must 

have  been  brought  up  on  the  bottle ! "   .     .     .     .93 

"  The  lecturer  must  deliver  the  goods ! " 100 

"  They  may  '  go  to  sleep  in  his  face '"...,..  103 
"I  have  been  after  'em,  suh;  but  it  ain't  no  use"  ,  .  122 
"  These  men  on  the  engines  are  great  characters  "  .  .  130 
"Pile  it  on  so  thick  that  the  lecturer  has  to  struggle 

hard  to  make  good " 136 

"The  last  I  saw  of  my  kindly  host" 145 


List  of  Illustrations 

PAGE 

"  When   he   got  through   I   could   have  qualified    for   a 

college  degree  on  the  subject  of  straw  hats"   .      .   1G2 

"  She  ast  me  was  you  so  very  comical,"  said  he  .     .     .  171 

"  If  yo  're   dealin'   in   brains,   hit    ain't   likely   yo'    got 

enough   to   gib  any   away " 185 

"  A  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Locomo- 
tives would  have  had  them  indicted  then  and  there"  191 

"  If  it  were  possible  to  sweep  a  room  clean  with  a 
welcoming  wave  of  the  hand — " 199 

"  Cannot  sleep  comfortably  between  the  sheets  of 
William  James's  pragmatic  philosophy,  dry  as 
they    are " 203 

"  If  he  had  shifted  his  chewing  gum  to  the  other  side, 

we  should  have  plunged  into  the  river  "   .      .      .      .   227 

"  Laughter  where  tears  would  have  been  more  appro- 
priate"      239 

"  I  found  the  building  wholly  dark " 247 

"  But  what  was  the  point  of  this  little  joke  last  night?"  264 

"  My  grinning  countenance  stared  back  at  me  unflinch- 
ingly"       276 

"  I  was  the  sudden  recipient  of  a  blow  on  top  of  my 
head" 283 

"  A  craving  to  settle  lingering  doubts  as  to  my  right 
to    be    there" ,298 


FROM  PILLAR  TO   POST 


FROM  PILLAR  TO  POST 


I 

GETTING  USED  TO  IT 

«T  CANNOT  imagine  a  more  disagreeable  way 
X  of  qualifying  for  the  income  tax,"  said  one  of 
America's  most  noted  after-dinner  speakers  to  me 
when  at  a  chance  meeting  he  and  I  were  discussing 
the  joys  and  woes  of  the  lecture  platform.  I  must 
admit  that  in  a  way  I  sympathized  with  him ;  for 
I  knew  something  of  the  sufferings  endured  for 
days  and  nights  prior  to  one's  own  public  appear- 
ance as  an  after-dinner  or  platform  speaker. 

There  was  a  time  many  years  ago,  upon  which 
I  look  back  with  wonder  that  I  ever  came  througli 
it  without  nervous  prostration,  when  I  suffered 
those  selfsame  mental  agonies  as  the  hour  ap- 
proached for  the  fulfilment  of  one  of  those  rash 
promises  which  men  fond  of  the  sound  of  their 

3 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

own  voices  make  months  in  advance  to  those  subtle 
flatterers  who  would  lure  them  from  the  easy  soli- 
tudes of  silence  into  the  uneasy  limelight  of  after- 
dinner  oratory.  Not  without  reason  has  a  certain 
wit,  whose  name  is  unfortunately  lost  to  fame,  re- 
ferred to  the  chairs  behind  the  guest  table  on  the 
raised  platform  at  revelries  of  this  nature  as  "  The 
Seats  of  the  Mighty  and  Miserable." 

These  sufferings  involve  a  loss  of  appetite  for 
days  in  advance  of  the  event ;  a  complete  derange- 
ment of  the  nervous  system,  with  no  chance  of  re- 
covery for  at  least  ten  days  preceding  the  emer- 
gent hour,  since  sleep  either  refuses  to  come  to 
one's  relief  altogether,  or  coming  brings  in  its  train 
a  species  of  nerve-racking  dream  which  leaves  the 
last  estate  of  the  weary  slumberer  worse  than  the 
first.  The  complication  is  far  more  difficult  to 
handle  than  that  involved  in  the  maturity  of  a 
promissory  note  which  one  is  unable  to  meet;  for 
there  are  conditions  under  which  a  tender-hearted 
creditor  will  permit  a  renewal  of  the  latter  sort 
of  obligation,  and  this  thought  provides  some  sort 
of  rift  in  the  cloud  of  a  debtor's  despair. 

But  in  the  matter  of  public  speaking  there  is  no 
such   comforting  possibility.     Nothing   short   of 

4 


Getting  Used  to  It 

inglorious  flight,  painful  accident,  or  serious  ill- 
ness, can  save  the  signer  of  that  promissory  note 
for  twenty-five  hundred  personally  conducted  after- 
dinner  words  from  being  called  upon  to  pay  in  full 
the  moment  the  note  falls  due.  He  can't  even 
plead  to  be  permitted  the  payment  of  one  para- 
graph on  account,  and  the  balance  in  thirty  days. 

The  contract  can  neither  be  evaded,  postponed, 
nor  sublet.  It  is  then  or  never  with  him,  and  while 
no  great  harm  would  come  to  the  world  if  ninety- 
nine  and  seven-eighths  per  cent,  of  the  after-dinner 
speeches  of  the  ages  had  gone  unspoken,  no  man 
of  the  right,  forward-looking,  upstanding  sort, 
whether  his  speeches  be  good,  bad,  or,  like  the  most 
of  them,  merely  indifferent,  may  wilfully  or  com- 
fortably permit  a  promise  of  that  nature  to  go  to 
protest. 

Yes,  I  sympathized  with  that  excellent  gentle- 
man. I  have  known  him  to  take  to  his  bed  three 
days  before  the  ordeal,  tremblingly  approach  the 
banquet  board,  rise  to  his  feet,  his  nerves  taut  as  a 
G  string,  his  knees  quaking  in  the  merciful  seclusion 
of  the  regions  under  the  table,  and  then,  with 
hardly  a  glimmering  of  consciousness  of  what  he 
was  doing  or  saying,  his  whole  being  thrilled  with 

5 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

terror,  acquit  himself  brilliantly,  to  return  home 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  trial  physically  and  nerv- 
ously prostrated. 

One  of  the  happiest  recollections  of  my  platform 
work,  nevertheless,  had  to  do  with  just  such  a  shiv- 
ering, quivering  condition.  It  was  many  years  ago 
—  back  in  the  mid-'90's  of  the  last  century,  that 
so-called  crazy  end-of-the-century  period,  which 
inspired  Max  Nordau's  depressing  treatise  on  De- 
generacy, and  yet  now  seems  so  gloriously  sane  in 
contrast  to  what  is  going  on  in  the  world  at  the 
present  time. 

In  some  mysterious  fashion  I  had  succeeded  in 
writing  what  the  literary  world  is  pleased  to  term 
a  "  best  seller,"  and  was  in  consequence  enjoying 
a  taste  of  that  notoriety  which  inexperienced  youth 
so  often  confounds  with  immortality.  One  result 
was  a  tolerably  persistent  demand  that  I  exhibit 
myself  at  one  of  those  then  popular  functions 
known  as  Authors'  Readings.  This  was  a  form 
of  entertainment  almost  as  barbarically  cruel  as 
those  ancient  ceremonies  in  which  Christian  mar- 
tyrs were  thrown  into  an  arena  to  demonstrate 
their  powers  in  combatting  irritated  tigers,  and 

6 


Getting  Used  to  It 

such  other  blood-thirsty  beasts  of  the  j  ungle  as  the 
ingenious  fancy  of  the  management  might  suggest. 
It  was,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  a  sort  of  Lit- 
erary Hagenbeck  Show,  whither  the  curious  among 
the  readers  of  the  day  were  lured  in  sweet  Char- 
ity's name  by  the  promise  of  a  personal  perform- 
ance by  real  literary  lions,  with  an  occasional  wild 
goose  or  two  wearing  temporarily  the  gorgeous 
plumage  of  the  Birds  of  Parnassus,  thrown  in  to 
make  the  program  longer. 

Invited  to  take  part  in  one  of  these  affairs,  and 
feeling  that  for  posterity's  sake  it  was  my  duty 
to  rivet  my  firm  grasp  upon  Fame  by  keeping 
such  company  as  my  remotest  great-grandchild 
could  wish  to  have  me  known  by,  I  carelessly  ac- 
cepted as  if  it  were  easy  to  comply,  and  all  in 
the  day's  work  of  a  new  sun  dawning  upon  the 
horizon  of  letters. 

But  when  the  fateful  evening  arrived  a  "  change 
came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream."  Two  dread 
situations  arose  which  bade  fair  to  drive  me  either 
into  the  nearest  sanatorium,  or  to  the  obscurity  of 
the  deepest  available  jungle.  Had  I  yielded  to  my 
immediate  impulse,  I  should  have  flown  as  far  afield 
as  the  Virginia  negro  who,  upon  being  advised  to 

7 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

leave  town  lest  he  suffer  certain  extreme  penalties 
for  his  misdeeds,  replied  that  he  was  "  gwine,  an' 
g^vine  so  fur  it  '11  cost  nine  dollars  to  send  a  postal 
card  back." 

On  one  side  of  the  curtain  at  the  great  metro- 
politan hall  where  the  Readings  were  to  be  held  sat 
nearly  three  thousand  hungry  readers,  waiting  to 
see  six  unhappy  authors  prove  whether  or  no  they 
could  read  their  own  productions  and  survive ;  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  curtain  were  five  real  Im- 
mortals and  my  sorely  agitated  self.  My  fellow 
sufferers  that  night  were  Dr.  Silas  Weir  Mitchell, 
Dr.  Henry  Van  Dyke,  William  Dean  Howells,  the 
lamented  Frank  R.  Stockton,  and  the  ever  unfor- 
gettable Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe. 

It  was  rather  godlike  company  for  a  mere  mor- 
tal like  myself,  and  as  I  gazed  upon  them  I  real- 
ized, perhaps  for  the  first  time,  the  magnificent  dis- 
tances that  lie  between  Yonkers-on-Hudson  and 
Parnassus-by-Helicon.  Frozen  from  heel  to  toe 
by  the  thought  of  having  to  appear  before  so  vast 
and  critical  an  audience,  the  complete  refrigeration 
of  my  nervous  system  was  accomplished  by  the 
thought  of  even  temporary  association  with  those 
fixed  stars  in  the  firmament  of  American  Letters. 

8 


Getting  Used  to  It 

Instead  of  a  burning  torch  on  the  heights  of  Olym- 
pus, I  felt  myself  more  of  a  possible  cinder  in  the 
public  eye.  One  might  be  willing  to  appear  before 
a  Court  of  Literary  Justice  in  the  company  of  any 
one  of  them,  but  to  assume  equality  with  five  such 
household  words  all  at  once,  and  especially  before 
an  audience  many  of  whose  members  had  from  time 
immemorial  known  me  as  "  Johnny  " — well,  to 
speak  with  frankness,  it  got  on  my  nerves. 

My  condition  was  like  that  foreshadowed  by  a 
good  old  neighbor  of  mine  up  on  the  coast  of 
Maine,  who  when  I  asked  him  one  morning  if  he 
ever  felt  nervous  when  the  thunder  was  roaring, 
and  the  lightning  was  striking  viciously,  replied, 
"  No,  I  hain't  never  felt  nervous :  /  'tw  jest  plain 
dam  sTceert  to  death! "  If  the  exits  from  the 
stage  had  not  been  guarded,  I  should  have  fled ; 
but  there  was  no  escape,  and  while  I  awaited  my 
turn  to  go  out  upon  the  platform  I  paced  the  back 
of  the  stage,  concealed  from  the  public  gaze  by  a 
drop  scene,  shaking  from  head  to  foot  with  a  nerv- 
ous chill.  I  can  scarcely  even  now  bring  myself 
to  believe  that  there  was  a  seismograph  anywhere 
between  the  northern  and  southern  poles  so  callous 
as  to  fail  to  register  my  vibrations. 

9 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

It  became  evident  as  the  moment  approached 
that  I  should  be  utterly  unable  to  go  out  upon  the 
platform  and  do  anything  but  dance:  not  after 
the  graceful  manner  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vernon 
Castle,  but  of  Saint  Vitus  himself.  To  have  held 
a  book,  even  so  light  a  one  as  my  own,  in  my 
shaking  hand  would  have  been  physically  impossi- 
ble, and  then,  just  as  I  was  about  to  seek  out  the 
chairman  of  the  committee  of  arrangements,  and 
plead  a  sudden  stroke  of  some  sort,  I  felt  a 
womanly  arm  thrust  through  my  own,  and  a  soft 
white  hand  was  laid  gently  and  soothingly  upon  my 
wrist.  I  glanced  to  my  side,  and  there  stood  Mrs. 
Julia  Ward  Howe,  her  lovely  eyes  full  of  sympa- 
thy, touched  with  a  joyous  reassuring  twinkle. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  she,  with  a  slight  catch 
and  tremor  in  her  voice,  *'  do  you  know  I  am  so 
nervous  about  going  out  before  all  those  people  to- 
night that  I  really  believe  I  shall  have  to  borrow 
some  of  your  manly  courage  and  strength  to  carry 
me  througli !  " 

A  marvelous  transformation  of  nervous  attitude 
was  the  immediate  result,  a  determination  to  rush 
to  the  aid  of  a  lady  flying  a  signal  of  distress  sum- 
moning all  my  latent  courage  to  her  cause.     A 

10 


Getting  Used  to  It 

realization  of  the  lovely  tactfulness  of  her  ap- 
proach and  its  true  significance,  and  the  prompt 
response  of  my  sense  of  humor,  not  yet  quite  dead, 
to  the  exact  facts  of  the  situation,  made  a  man 
of  me  for  the  time  being  —  a  man  who  would  dare 
the  undarable,  attempt  the  unattainable,  and  if 
need  be,  as  the  eloquent  African  preacher  once 
observed,  "  onscrew  the  onscrutable."  Nervous- 
ness, cowardice,  muscular  vibrations,  and  all  dis- 
appeared like  the  mists  of  the  night  before  the 
radiance  of  the  dawn  in  the  face  of  that  gracious 
woman's  tactful  humor,  and  later  on  I  went  forth 
to  my  doom  so  brazenly,  and  smiling  so  confidently, 
that  one  critic  in  the  next  morning's  newspaper 
intimated  without  much  subtlety  of  phrasing  that 
I  enjoyed  myself  far  more  than  my  audience  did. 
It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  Mrs.  Howe's 
timely  intervention  on  my  behalf  effected  a  per- 
manent cure  of  my  nervousness  in  platform  work ; 
but  it  has  helped  me  much  to  overcome  it ;  for  many 
a  time  since,  when  through  sheer  weariness,  or 
for  some  purely  psychological  reason,  I  have  ap- 
proached my  work  with  uneasy  forebodings,  the 
memory  of  that  delightful  incident  has  come  back 
to  me,  and  I  have  invariably  found  relief  from  my 

11 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

fears  in  the  smile  which  it  never  fails  to  bring 
to  my  lips,  and  to  my  spirit  as  well. 

I  do  not  know  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
for  any  public  speaker  ever  to  approach  the  emer- 
gent hour  with  entire  assurance  and  utterly  cal- 
loused nerves.  Such  a  condition  might  well  be- 
speak an  indifference  to  the  work  in  hand  which 
would  result  either  in  a  purely  mechanical  delivery, 
or  one  so  careless  as  to  destroy  the  effect  of  the 
lecturer's  most  valuable  asset  —  a  sympathetic 
personality.  I  recall  far  back  in  my  college  days, 
in  the  early  '80's  of  the  last  century,  meeting  at 
one  of  my  fraternity  conventions  that  inspiring 
publicist,  the  late  Senator  Frye  of  Maine.  In  the 
course  of  a  pleasant  chat,  having  myself  to  ap- 
pear before  the  convention  with  a  committee  report 
the  following  morning,  and  feeling  a  trifle  uncer- 
tain as  to  how  I  was  going  to  "  come  through," 
I  asked  the  senator  if  he  was  ever  a  victim  to 
nervousness  when  making  a  public  address,  and  his 
answer  was  very  suggestive. 

"  Always,  my  lad,"  said  he,  "  always !  I  have 
been  making  public  speeches  off  and  on  now  for 
twenty-five  or  thirty  years,  and  even  to-day  when 
I  rise  up  to  speak  in  the  United  States  Senate, 

12 


Getting  Used  to  It 

or  on  the  stump,  my  knees  shake  a  little  under 
me.  And  I  'm  glad  they  do,  Son,"  he  went  on  sig- 
nificantly ;  "  for  if  they  did  n't,  I  should  begin  to 
feel  that  the  days  of  my  usefulness  were  over,  for 
it  would  mean  that  I  really  did  n't  care  whether 
I  got  through  safely  or  not." 

So  it  was  that  up  to  a  certain  point  I  sympa- 
thized with  my  friend  the  distinguished  after-din- 
ner speaker  when  he  intimated  that  the  lecture  plat- 
form was  no  bed  of  roses.  For  one  of  his  nerv- 
ous organization  and  temperament  it  would  be 
impossible.  It  would  make  a  nervous  wreck  of 
him  in  a  short  while,  and  in  the  end  would  shorten 
his  life,  even  as  it  has  shortened  the  span  of  many 
another  robust  spirit;  such  as  the  late  Alfred 
Tennyson  Dickens,  for  instance,  who  in  very  truth 
succumbed  to  the  exactions  of  travel  and  of  a 
lovely  hospitality  that  he  knew  not  how  to  resist. 

But  for  myself  there  is  so  much  in  the  work 
that  is  inspiring,  so  much  that  is  pleasing  in  the 
human  relationships  it  makes  possible,  that  but  for 
the  discomforts  of  travel  I  could  really  feed  upon 
it  spiritually,  and  seek  no  happier  diet.  I  defy 
any  man  to  be  a  pessimist  on  the  subject  of  Ameri- 
can character  after  a  season  or  two  on  the  lecture 

13 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

platform ;  provided  of  course  that  he  is  a  reason- 
ably sympathetic  man,  and  is  so  constituted  in 
matters  social  that  he  is  what  the  politicians  call 
a  "  good  mixer." 

To  the  man  who  is  not  interested  in  the  human 
animal,  and  insists  upon  judging  all  men  by  his 
own  rigid  and  narrow  standards,  measuring  souls 
by  a  yardstick,  as  it  were,  the  work  can  never  be 
a  joy;  but  if  he  is  broad  enough  to  take  people 
as  he  finds  them,  looking  for  the  good  that  lies 
inherent  in  every  human  being,  and  judging  them 
by  the  measure  of  their  capacity  to  become  what 
they  were  designed  to  be,  and  are  honestly  trying 
to  be,  then  he  will  find  it  full  of  a  living  and  a 
loving  interest  almost  equal  to  that  of  the  "joy 
forever." 

Pasted  in  my  spiritual  hat  is  a  little  rime  by  one 
whose  name  modesty  forbids  my  mentioning,  run- 
ning: 

I  can't  be  what  Shakespeare  was, 
I   can't   do   what   great   folks   does; 
But,  by  Ginger,  I  can  be 

ME! 
And  among  the  folks  that  love  me 
Nothin'  more 's  expected  of  me. 


14 


Getting  Used  to  It 

The  wandering  platform  speaker  who  will  heed 
the  intimations  of  that  little  rime,  and  seize  the 
friendships  in  kind  that  surely  await  his  coming 
in  all  parts  of  this  great,  genial  country  of  ours, 
will  find  a  wondrous  store  of  happiness  ready  to 
his  hand.  If  in  addition  to  this  he  will  cultivate 
the  habit  of  looking  for  good  in  unpromising 
places,  and  of  resolutely  refusing  to  admit  the 
power  of  small  irritations  to  destroy  his  peace 
of  mind,  he  will  get  along  nicely.  The  latter  of 
course  requires  resolution  of  a  kind  that  is  per- 
sistent in  the  face  of  unremitting  annoyances.  To 
say  that  these  annoyances  do  not  exist  would  be 
idle ;  but  not  half  so  idle  as  the  act  of  giving  them 
controlling  importance  in  the  making  or  the  un- 
making of  a  day's  happiness. 

The  sooner  one  who  travels  the  Platform  Path 
learns  to  suspend  judgment  as  to  his  fellow  beings, 
and  to  suspect  the  fallacy  of  the  obvious,  the  bet- 
ter it  will  be  for  him,  and  for  his  personal  comfort. 
The  first  conspicuous  lesson  I  had  in  this  particu- 
lar was  out  in  Arizona  on  my  first  extended  tour 
in  our  wonderful  West  in  1906.  I  found  myself 
one  afternoon  on  my  way  from  Los  Angeles  to 
Phoenix.     After   having   satisfied   the    inner   man 

15 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

with  an  excellent  Fred  Harvey  luncheon  —  an  edi- 
ble oasis  always  in  a  desert  of  indigcstibility  —  I 
had  retired  to  the  smoking  car  for  that  spiritual 
refreshment  which  comes  from  watching  the  smoke 
wreaths  curl  upward  from  the  end  of  a  good  cigar. 

Unhappily  for  the  quality  of  that  refreshment, 
I  was  no  sooner  seated  in  the  smoking  room  that 
I  perceived  that  I  was  surrounded  by  men  who, 
judging  by  surface  indications,  were  hopeless  vul- 
garians. Among"  them  were  three  especially  whose 
conversation  was  even  lower  than  their  brows.  I 
think  I  can  best  describe  their  conversation  by 
saying  that  in  all  probability  Boccaccio's  lady 
companions  out  Fiesole  way,  at  the  time  of  the 
plague  that  drove  the  Florentine  Four  Hundred 
beyond  the  city  limits,  would  have  fled  blushingly 
before  it,  taking  refuge  by  preference  in  the  pure, 
undefiled  Rolloisms  of  the  Decameron  itself;  while 
poor  old  Rabelais,  not  always  a  master  of  reticence 
in  things  better  left  unsaid,  would,  I  am  sure,  have 
joined  a  literary  branch  of  the  I.  W.  W.  in  sheer 
rebellion,  rather  than  sully  the  refinement  of  his 
pen  by  taking  down  any  part  of  it. 

One  has  to  listen  to  a  great  deal  of  this  sort  of 
thing  en  route,  and  pending  the  discovery  of  some 

16 


Getting  Used  to  It 

kind  of  vocal  silencer  that  shall  render  such  com- 
munications as  noiseless  as  they  are  corrupting  to 
good  manners,  or  a  portable  muffler  which  the  un- 
willing listener  may  place  over  his  ears,  the  wan- 
dering platform  performer  who  has  not  yet 
reached  a  point  where  he  can  give  up  his  cigar  and 
be  happy  must  needs  endure  them.  Indeed  he  is 
doing  well  if  he  is  not  lured  into  a  shamefacd  en- 
joyment of  such  talk ;  for  it  must  be  admitted  that 
some  of  the  traveling  companions  one  meets  thus 
by  chance  have  rare  powers  as  story-tellers,  and 
pour  forth  at  times  most  objectionable  periods 
with  a  smiling  enthusiasm  almost  fetching  enough 
to  tempt  a  Simeon  Stylites  down  from  the  top  of 
his  pillar  into  the  lower  regions  of  their  alluring 
good  fellowship. 

Neither  a  prig  nor  a  prude  am  I;  but  on  this 
particular  occasion  the  gross  results  of  the  con- 
versation were  so  very  gross  as  to  preclude  the 
possibility  of  there  being  any  "  net  proceeds  "  of 
value,  and  I  fled. 

On  returning  to  my  place  in  the  sleeper  I  no- 
ticed in  the  section  directly  across  the  aisle  a  hand- 
some Englishwoman,  traveling  with  no  other  com- 
panion than  a  little  daughter,  a  child  of  about 

17 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

three  and  a  half  years  of  happy,  bubbling  youth. 
The  little  one  was  seated  on  her  mother's  lap,  and 
was  enjoying  a  "  let 's  pretend  "  drive  across  coun- 
try, using  the  maternal  lorgnette  chain  in  lieu 
of  the  ribbons  wherewith  to  guide  her  imaginary 
steeds. 

An  hour  passed,  when  a  boisterous  laugh  from 
the  rear  of  the  car  indicated  the  approach  of  the 
three  barbarians  of  the  smoker,  who  to  my  disgust 
a  moment  later  settled  themselves  in  the  section 
directly  in  front  of  mine,  and  to  my  dismay  began 
apparently  to  take  a  greater  interest  in  the  lady 
across  the  aisle  than  the  ordinary  usages  of  polite 
human  intercourse  warranted,  lacking  a  formal 
introduction. 

I  have  never  posed  as  a  Squire  of  Dames,  and 
I  have  a  wholesome  distaste  for  such  troubles  as 
an  unseeing  eye  enables  a  man  to  avoid;  but  the 
intrusion  of  these  Goths,  not  to  say  Vandals,  upon 
the  lady's  right  to  travel  unmolested  was  so  ob- 
vious that  I  could  n't  help  seeing  and  inwardly  re- 
senting it.  The  woman  herself  treated  the  situa- 
tion with  becoming  coolness  and  dignity,  showing 
only  by  a  slight  change  of  color,  and  now  and  then 
a  vexed  biting  of  the  lips,  that  she  noticed  it  at  all ; 

18 


Getting  Used  to  It 

but  the  cooler  she  became  the  more  strenuous  be- 
came the  efforts  of  the  barbarians  to  "  scrape  an 
acquaintance." 

I  held  an  inward  debate  with  myself  as  to  my 
duty  in  the  premises.  I  did  not  care  to  get  into 
a  row ;  but  the  ogling  soon  became  so  pronounced 
that  it  really  seemed  necessary  to  interfere.  I 
reached  out  my  hand  to  ring  for  such  reinforce- 
ments as  the  porter  and  the  conductor  might  be 
able  to  bring  to  our  assistance,  when  to  my  aston- 
ishment the  worst  offender  of  the  three  rose  from 
his  seat,  and  stepped  quickly  to  the  lady's  side  — 
and  then  there  was  revealed  to  me  the  marvelous 
wisdom  of  the  old  injunction,  "  Judge  not,  that  ye 
be  not  judged  " ;  for  the  supposed  ruffian,  whom 
I  would  a  moment  before  have  willingly,  and  with 
seeming  justification,  thrown  bodily  from  the  train, 
with  the  manner  of  a  Chesterfield  in  the  rough 
lifted  his  hat  and  spoke. 

"  Yiou  will  excuse  me  for  speaking  to  you, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  wistful  smile  on 
his  lips  and  a  tenderness  in  his  eye  worthy  of  a 
seemingly  better  cause,  "  but  I  'm  —  I  'm  what 
they  call  a  drummer,  a  traveling  man,  and  I  've 
been  away  from  home  for  three  months.     I  've  got 

19 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

a  little  girl  of  my  own  at  homo  about  the  same 
age  as  this  kid  of  yours,  and  I  tell  you,  ma'am, 
you  'd  ease  off  an  awful  case  of  homesickness  if 
you  'd  let  me  play  with  the  little  lady  just  for  a 
few  minutes." 

The  mother's  heart  seemed  to  go  right  out  to 
him,  as  did  mine  also.  She  smiled  graciously,  and 
handed  over  her  little  daughter  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  that  group  whose  presence  I  had  fled 
only  a  short  while  before  —  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  that  Pullman  sleeper  was  transformed 
into  a  particularly  bright  and  joyous  nursery  that 
echoed  and  reechoed  to  the  merry  laughter  of 
happy  childhood. 

If  there  is  an  animal  of  any  kind  in  the  zoos 
of  commerce  that  those  men  did  not  impersonate 
during  the  next  two  or  three  hours  I  do  not  know 
its  name,  the  especially  objectionable  barbarian 
transforming  himself  instantly  on  demand  into  an 
elephant,  a  yak,  a  roaring  lion,  a  tiger,  or  a  leop- 
ard changing  its  spots  as  actively  as  a  flea,  and 
all  with  a  graceful  facility  that  Proteus  himself 
might  well  have  envied.  And  later,  when  night  fell, 
and  weariness  came  with  it,  in  the  dusk  of  the  twi- 
light it  was  indeed  a  pretty  sight  to  me,  and  a 

20 


Getting  Used  to  It 

sight  that  smote  somewhat  upon  my  conscience 
for  my  over-read}^  contempt  of  the  earlier  after- 
noon, when  my  gaze  fell  upon  the  figure  of  an  ex- 


it was  indeed 
a  pretty  sight 
to   me!" 


hausted  drummer,  his  eyes  half-closed,  sleepily 
humming  a  tender  lullaby  to  a  tired  little  golden- 
haired  stranger  who  lay  cuddled  up  in  his  arms, 
fast  asleep,  with  her  head  upon  his  breast. 

I  like  to  think  that  that  little  incident  was  a 
21 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

valuable  contribution  to  my  education  in  the  sci- 
ence of  brotherhood.  It  has  not  perhaps  pro- 
duced in  my  soul  a  larger  tolerance  of  the  in- 
tolerable in  casual  conversation,  but  it  has  served 
to  warn  me  against  the  dangers  of  snap  judgments, 
and  has  certainly  broadened  my  sympathies  in 
respect  to  my  fellow  man  in  my  chance  meetings 
with  him  upon  the  highways  and  byways  of  life, 
whence  sometimes,  in  the  loneliness  of  my  wander- 
ings, I  have  gathered  much  comfort,  and  reaped 
harvests  in  friendliness  which  otherwise  I  might 
have  lost. 


22 


II 

SOUTHERN  HOSPITALITY 

IN  traveling  about  the  country,  and  especially 
in  the  South,  I  have  been  impressed  with  the 
wisdom  of  the  character  in  Owen  Wister's  delight- 
ful story  of  "  The  Virginian,"  who  when  another 
man  applied  an  unspeakable  name  to  him  leveled  a 
revolver  in  the  speaker's  face,  and  said,  "  When 
you  call  me  that,  say  it  with  a  smile !  "  (I  quote 
from  memory.)  A  moment  on  the  road  is  made 
cheerful  or  difficult  by  the  manner  in  which  things 
are  said,  and  the  wanderer's  homesickness  is  either 
relieved  or  deepened  by  the  manner  of  a  chance 
remark,  which  brings  cheer  if  it  be  smiling,  and  a 
deeper  sense  of  loneliness  if  it  be  otherwise. 

Throughout  the  South  I  have  never  felt  quite  so 
far  away  from  home  as  in  some  parts  of  New 
England  less  than  a  hundred  miles  from  my  own 
rooftree,  and  I  think  that  this  is  due  largely  to 
the   positive   effort   on   the   part   of  the   average 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Southern  man  or  woman  to  maintain  the  tradi- 
tional courtesy  and  hospitality  of  the  South  to- 
ward the  stranger  within  its  gates.  It  is  only 
semi-occasionally  that  one  finds  in  some  sour-na- 
tured  relic  of  other  days  any  other  attitude  than 
that  of  smiling  welcome,  and  even  with  the  ther- 
mometer ranging  close  to  the  zero  mark  I  have 
learned  why  the  Southland  is  in  spirit  anyhow 
the  "  Land  of  Roses." 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  when  the  de- 
parture from  the  attitude  of  cordiality  is  made  it 
is  done  thoroughly,  and  with  a  sort  of  reckless 
truculence  which  the  wary  traveler  will  be  wise  to 
ascribe  solely  to  its  individual  source. 

In  the  winter  and  spring  of  1913  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  work  cut  out  for  me  in  the  Southern 
territory,  and  during  my  travels  there,  which  in- 
volved the  crossing  and  recrossing  of  every  State 
in  the  section  except  Kentucky,  from  the  Atlantic 
coast  to  the  Mexican  border,  I  encountered  much 
in  the  way  of  human  experience  that  is  delightful 
to  remember,  and  very  little  that  I  would  rather 
forget.  It  was  upon  this  trip  that  two  incidents 
occurred  which  showed  very  clearly  the  difference 
between   a   cutting  retort  smilingly   administered 

24 


Southern  Hospitality 

and  that  other  kind  of  peculiarly  rasping  repartee,, 
born  of  a  soured  nature  that  has  confirmed  its 
acid  qualities  by  pickling  itself  in  a  mixture  of 
equal  parts  of  gloomy  self-sympathy  over  fancied 
wrongs,  and  —  well,  not  grape  juice. 

There  is  a  kind  of  tonic  dispensed  in  certain 
of  our  prohibition  States  by  licensed  drugstores 
and  carried  by  suffering  patients  in  small  black 
bottles,  secreted  in  their  hip  pockets,  like  deadly 
weapons  —  which  indeed  they  are  (whence,  possi- 
bly, we  get  the  term  "  hipped  "  as  descriptive  of 
the  ailment  of  the  sufferer)  —  which  does  not  ex- 
actly mellow  the  disposition  of  the  consumer,  what- 
ever glow  it  may  impart  to  his  countenance. 

One  morning  I  found  myself  on  my  way  from 
Natchitoches,  in  Louisiana,  a  lovely  survival  of  a 
picturesque  old  French  trading  post,  a  perfect 
home  of  roses,  both  human  and  floral,  which  will 
ever  remain  a  garden  spot  in  my  memory,  to 
Shreveport.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  May,  and  the 
whole  country  was  a  delight  to  the  eye,  with  its 
lovely  greens  and  lush  spring  coloring.  I  was  re- 
turning from  a  lecture  before  the  State  Normal 
School,  and  while  sitting  in  the  smoking  car  enjoy- 
ing my  weed  was  introduced  to  a  gentleman   (I 

25 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

use  the  word  carelessly,  and  without  positive 
conviction)  whom  everybody  had  been  calling 
"  Judge."  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I  did  not  catch 
his  last  name.  I  do  not  even  know  whether  or 
not  he  was  really  a  judge,  or,  if  he  were,  what  he 
was  a  judge  of.  He  reminded  me  more  of  the 
judges  I  have  read  of  in  fictional  humor  than  any 
I  have  ever  seen  on  the  bench,  and  from  his  general 
attitude  toward  his  fellows  on  the  train  I  gained 
a  tolerably  clean-cut  impression  that  he  tried  his 
"  cases  "  in  solitary  state,  rather  than  in  that  more 
open  fashion  which  is  such  a  bad  example  to  the 
young,  and  productive  of  that  ruinously  extrava- 
gant disease  known  as  "  treating."  I  may  be  do- 
ing the  man  an  injustice,  but  I  am  none  the  less 
trying  to  sketch  him  as  I  saw  him.  He  had  the 
manner  and  manners  of  the  solitary  reveler,  and 
the  generally  "  oily,"  but  not  suave,  quality  of  his 
makeup  confirmed  my  impression  that  any  love  of 
temperance  he  might  manifest  was  purely  academic, 
or,  as  one  of  our  leading  statesmen  might  put  it, 
"  largely  psychological."  Desirous  of  starting 
things  along  pleasantly  after  my  introduction  to 
the  judge,  I  remarked  upon  the  marvelous  beauty 
of  the  country. 

26 


Southern  Hospitality 

"  Everything  is  beautifully  green  about  here," 
I  said.  "  It  is  a  positive  pleasure  to  look  out  on 
those  lovely  fields." 

"  Glad  you  like  'em,"  said  the  judge,  helping 
himself  to  a  generous  mouthful  of  tobacco. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  I,  "  I  come  from  Maine, 
Judge,  and  I  am  particularly  fond  of  the  spring, 
and  we  don't  get  ours  until  late.  I  guess,"  I 
added,  "  that  in  respect  to  that  we  are  about  a 
month  and  a  half  behind  you  people  down  here." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  explosively,  "  and,  by  God!  you 
are  fifty  years  behind  us  m  every  other  respect!  " 

It  was  a  kindly  and  tactful  remark,  and  I  was 
duly  edified.  If  he  had  said  it  smilingly,  I  should 
have  been  happier,  and  would  have  been  inclined 
to  enter  upon  a  half-hour  of  jovial  banter  on  the 
subject  of  the  respective  merits  of  our  several 
States ;  but  there  was  a  truculent  self-confidence 
about  his  honor's  "  atmosphere  "  that  foreshad- 
owed little  in  the  way  of  a  satisfactory  issue  had 
I  ventured  to  carry  the  discussion  further.  I 
simply  withdrew  within  myself,  like  a  turtle,  fin- 
ished my  cigar  in  silence,  and  returned  to  my  seat 
in  the  chair  car,  convinced  that  in  whatever  line  of 
action  the  judge  was  really  an  expert  —  law,  his- 

rt 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

tory,  economics,  or  what-not  —  he  at  least  knew 
how  to  put  a  cork  in  a  bottle,  and  jam  it  in  so  tight 
that  nothing  could  get  out  of  it  —  I  being  the 
bottle. 


"Yes,   and  you  are  fifty  years  be- 
hind us   in   every   otlier   respect!" 

As  I  sat  for  the  rest  of  my  journey  in  that  chair 
car  my  mind  reverted  to  another  incident  that  had 
occurred  two  months  earlier.  The  inviting  causes 
were  similar ;  but  the  party  of  the  second  part  was 
a  very  different  sort  of  individual.  The  judgq 
was  said  to  be  prosperous,  the  owner  of  many  acres 

28 


Southern  Hospitality 

of  fertile  sugar  land,  and  had,  or  so  I  was  in- 
formed, a  professional  income  of  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  One  would  think  he  could  have 
afforded  to  be  genial  under  such  conditions.  The 
other  was  a  man  bent  and  broken  under  the  stress 
of  his  years  and  his  trials,  coming  home,  after  a 
lifetime  of  failure,  to  pass  his  remaining  days, 
manifestly  few  in  number,  amid  the  scenes  of  his 
youth.  What  few  locks  were  left  him  were  gray, 
and  he  limped  painfully  when  he  walked.  He  had 
served  on  the  Confederate  side  during  the  war, 
and  still  carried  with  him  the  evidences  of  sacri- 
fice. 

I  met  him  on  the  railway  platform  at  a  little 
junction  town  in  Southern  Tennessee.  I  was  en 
route  to  a  small  college  town  in  Upper  Mississippi. 
We  had  had  a  long  and  tedious  wait  upon  the  fast 
decaying  station  platform,  hoping  almost  against 
hope  that  at  least  day  before  yesterday's  train 
would  come  along  and  pick  us  up,  whatever  might 
be  the  fate  of  the  special  combination  of  wheezy 
engine  and  spring-halted  cars  due  that  morning. 
As  I  nervously  paced  the  dragging  hours  away  I 
noticed  this  old  fellow  limping  anxiously  about, 
making  over  and  over  again  of  everybody  he  met 

29 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

the  same  inquiry  as  to  tlie  probable  arrival  or  non- 
arrival  of  our  train ;  and  now  and  then  he  would 
hobble  with  difficulty  over  to  a  small  soap  box, 
with  a  slatted  top,  which  stood  just  outside  the 
baggage  room,  in  which  there  was  imprisoned  a 
poor,  shivering,  and  I  fancy  hungry,  little  fox  ter- 
rier, whining  to  be  let  out. 

"  Never  mind,  Bobby,"  the  old  man  would 
whisper  through  the  slatted  top  of  the  box. 
"  'Taint  gwine  to  be  much  longer  now.  We  '11 
be  home   soon." 

The  kindly  attitude  of  the  old  man  toward  the 
unhappy  little  animal  touched  me  more  deeply  than 
his  own  poverty-stricken  condition,  and  so,  yield- 
ing to  a  friendly  impulse,  I  stood  by  him  for  a 
moment  and  spoke  to  him. 

"  It 's  a  long  wait,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said  cheerfully,  straightening 
himself  up  stiffly,  "  it 's  so  near  the  end  I  ain't 
complainin'.  I  been  waitin'  fohty  yeahs  for  this, 
Brother." 

"Forty  years?"  I  repeated. 

"  Yes,  suh,"  he  replied,  "  fohty  long  yeahs,  suh. 
I  ain't  been  home  since  the  end  o'  the  wah,  suh. 
An'  now  I  'm  comin'  back,  an'  I  reckon  after  I  git 

30 


Southern  Hospitality 


thar  thar  ain't  a  gwinc  to  be  but  one  mo'  journey, 
suh,  bcfo'  I  'in  through." 


I  knew 
that  I  had 
met  a 
"Southern 
Gentleman." 


"  You  mean  — "  I  began. 

"  I  'm  comin'  home  to  die,  suh,"  he  said.     "  Not 
that  I  'm  a  gwine  to  be  in  any  hurry  to  do  it," 

31 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

he  added,  with  a  winning  smile,  "  but  I  'm  tiahed  o' 
wanderin',  an'  what 's  left  o'  my  time  hyah,  suh, 
'11  pass  mo'  pleasantly  back  among  the  old  scenes." 

I  endeavored  to  cover  up  my  emotions  by  offer- 
ing the  old  man  a  cigar. 

"  I  thank  you,  suh,"  he  said,  taking  it.  "  I  'm 
very  fond  of  a  good  seegyar,  though  I  don't  git 
'em  any  too  often,  suh.  Are  you  a  Tennessee  man, 
suh?" 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  I  come  from  Maine.  That 's 
a  good  way  from  here." 

And  then  it  came.  The  old  fellow  gave  a  great 
chuckle,  and  reached  out  his  hand  and  seized  me 
by  mine. 

"  I  want  to  shake  your  hand,  suh,"  he  said  with 
rare  cordiality.  "  The  last  time  I  see  a  Maine 
man,  suh,  was  durin'  the  wah,  am*  I  was  chasin' 
him  with  a  gun.  He  was  a  darned  good  runner; 
but  I  ketched  him,  an'  I  'm  glad  I  did,  fo'  he  was 
a  dam  sight  better  feller  than  he  was  a  runner!  " 

I  must  confess  that  when  later  in  the  day  I  saw 
the  old  gentleman  get  off  the  train  in  the  midst 
of  a  welcoming  multitude  of  old  friends,  with  his 
battered  old  suitcase  in  one  hand,  and  the  slatted 
soap   box   containing  the   yelping   Bobby   in   the 

32 


Southern  Hospitality 

other  —  all  his  earthly  possessions  —  I  was  glad 
to  feel  that  he  had  come  "  home " ;  and  as  he 
waved  a  feeble  but  courteous  adieu  to  me  from 
the  platform  as  the  train  drew  out  I  knew  that  I 
had  met  a  Southern  gentleman  of  a  peculiarly  true 
and  lovable  sort. 

One  finds  much  in  these  little  jaunts  in  the 
Southland  to  appeal  to  one's  sense  of  humor ;  but 
after  all  there  is  much  more  that  appeals  to  one's 
sympathies.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  riding  once 
in  Louisiana  on  a  train  in  company  with  an  old 
Confederate  soldier,  who  made  me  as  completely 
his  prisoner  in  the  shackles  of  affectionate  regard 
as  he  might,  because  of  his  powerful  build,  have 
made  me  a  prisoner  in  fact  had  we  met  face  to  face 
on  the  field  of  battle.  He  was  a  man  of  convic- 
tions ;  but  he  was  always  so  thoroughly  the  hon- 
est-hearted gentleman  in  presenting  his  points  of 
view  that,  although  we  differed  radically  upon  al- 
most every  matter  of  present  political  interest,  I 
found  for  the  moment,  anyhow,  a  sweet  reasonable- 
ness in  his  principles.  His  manner  was  so  calm, 
and  gracious,  and  transparently  sincere,  that  I 
found  him  wholly  captivating. 

His  chance  remark  that  he  hoped  to  attend  the 
33 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

great  Confederate  reunion  shortly  to  be  held  at 
Chattanooga,  or  Chattanoogy,  as  he  called  it 
(there  is  always  a  soft,  caressing  accent  in  the  real 
Southerner's  discourse  that  changes  a  mere  word 
or  name  into  a  term  of  endearment),  naturally 
brought  up  a  reference  to  the  great  conflict, 
and  I  took  a  certain  amount  of  human  pleasure 
out  of  the  old  man's  present  content  with  the 
general  situation,  as  shown  in  the  naive  state- 
ment with  which  he  began  to  talk  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  You  know,  suh,"  said  he,  "  I  feel  pretty  well 
satisfied  with  the  way  things  turned  out,  even 
though  at  the  time,  suh,  I  did  n't  want  'em  to  turn 
out  just  that  a-way." 

"  We  are  undoubtedly  stronger  as  a  nation  to- 
day than  if  it  had  turned  out  differently,"  I 
ventured. 

"  Yes,  suh,"  he  said.  "  If  we  'd  got  away,  suh, 
it  would  n't  ha'  been  long  bef  o'  the  principle  o'  the 
right  o'  secession  bavin'  been  established,  we  'd  all 
ha'  been  secedin'  from  each  othah,  suh;  and  after 
the  States  had  done  all  the  secedin'  they  could  the 
parishes  would  ha'  begun  secedin'  from  the  States ; 
an'  the  towns  would  ha'  seceded  from  the  parishes 

34 


Southern  Hospitality 

—  until  the  whole  damn  country  would  ha'  landed 
in  Mexico !  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before," 
I  smiled ;  "  but  I  guess  you  're  right." 

"  An'  that  ain't  all,  neither,  suh,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  'd  ha'  felt  a  great  sight  worse  about  it  if  we  'd 
been  licked,  suh.  If  we  'd  been  licked  in  that  great 
fight,  suh,  I  don't  think  I  'd  evah  have  got  ovah 
it,  suh." 

I  maintained  a  discreet  silence ;  for  I  could  not 
but  feel  that  I  was  on  the  verge  of  a  great  philo- 
sophical discovery. 

"  When  a  fellah 's  licked,  suh,"  the  old  man  went 
on,  "  he  just  natcherly  kain't  help  feelin'  sore,  suh ; 
hut  if  he  's  merely  ovalipowaJied,  suh  —  why  that  '* 
very  different." 

There  may  be  minds  to  which  that  distinction 
is  too  subtle  to  be  either  obvious  or  convincing; 
but  the  more  I  have  thought  it  over  since  the  more 
has  it  seemed  to  me  to  involve  a  profound  philoso- 
phy which  would  make  the  world  happier  were  it 
more  widely  accepted  by  those  suffering  from  re- 
verses of  fortune.  To  me  there  was  a  whole  sermon 
in  that  brief  utterance,  and  the  difference  between 
being  "  licked  "  and  being  "  merely  overpowered  " 
35 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

has  been  one  out  of  which  I  have  derived  no  end 
of  comfort  myself  in  hours  of  difficulty.  To  be 
whipped  is  one  thing ;  to  be  merely  overcome  is  in- 
deed another ! 

Nor  was  the  old  man's  kindly  feeling  concerning 
the  God  of  Things  as  They  Are,  as  expressed  in 
words,  mere  lip  service ;  for  in  the  course  of  our 
morning's  chat  other  things  developed  which  I  am 
glad  enough  to  put  upon  record  for  Northern  eyes. 

"  I  wish,"  said  he,  "  that  you  might  stay  ovah 
hyah  at  my  home  a  day  or  two,  suh,  and  let  me 
take  you  to  one  of  our  Post  meetin's,  suh.  We  'd 
make  you  more  than  welcome." 

"  Yank  though  I  be,  eh?  "  I  laughed. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  suh,"  he  replied.  "  We  ain't  got 
anything  against  you  on  that  score,  suh.  My  first 
meetin'  with  Yanks  in  a  not  strictly  fightin'  capac- 
ity was  once  when  a  half  a  dozen  of  'em  took 
me  prisoner.  I  found  myself  surrounded  by  'em 
one  day  durin'  the  wah  when  I  was  doin'  picket 
duty,  and  the  way  they  run  me  in  was  a  caution, 
suh.  They  bein'  six  to  one,  I  just  let  on  that  I 
was  satisfied  if  they  was." 

"  And  what  did  they  do  to  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  They  near  killed  me,  suh,  with  seegyars,  and 
36 


Southern  Hospitality 

mo'  real  food  than  I  'd  seen  in  six  months,"  he  said 
with  a  chuckle.  "  The'  was  n't  anything  they  had, 
from  plug  tobacker  and  seegyars  up  to  a  real  meat 
dinner  that  I  did  n't  git  mo'  'n  my  faiah  share 
of." 

"  And  how  long  did  they  keep  you  ?  "  I  quer- 
ied. 

"  Fo'  as  long  as  I  was  willin'  to  stay,  suh,"  was 
his  reply.  "  The  minute  they  see  I  was  beginnin' 
to  feel  oneasy  they  run  me  back  to  the  line  again, 
and  turned  me  loose.  Speakin'  about  Yanks,"  he 
went  on,  "  we  've  got  five  of  'em  buried  in  our  own 
Confederate  graveyard  in  the  cemetery,  suh;  and 
I  'm  kind  of  afraid  it  won't  be  long  befo'  they  's 
six  of  'em.  One  of  yo'  old  soldiers  from  up  No'th 
come  down  here  f o'  his  health  last  year ;  but  he  's 
gone  down  steadily,  and  I  reckon  it  ain't  for  long 
that  he  '11  be  with  us.  When  we  heard  he  was  an 
old  soldier  our  Post  sent  him  to  the  hospital,  and 
he  's  dyin'  there  now.  He  seemed  to  feel  so  bad 
about  the  idee  o'  bein'  buried  in  the  Potter's  Field 
that  we  voted  to  give  him  a  grave  with  the  rest  of 
the  boys,  and  when  he  goes  he  '11  lie  with  soldiers, 
like  he  's  allers  wanted  to  do." 

I  could  not  find  any  words  in  the  languages 
37 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

known  to  mc,  dead  or  alive,  to  express  what  I  felt, 
and  so  I  kept  silent. 

"  He  won't  be  forgotten,  neither,  after  he  gits 
there,"  the  old  fellow  went  on.  "  We  have  our 
Memorial  Day,  just  as  you  have  your  Decoration 
Day,  and  every  year  we  go  up  to  the  lot  and  deco- 
rate the  graves  of  'em  all,  Yank  or  Johnny,  just 
the  same.  We  put  a  little  Confederate  flag  at  the 
head  of  every  grave  that  holds  one  of  our  own ; 
and  every  one  o'  them  Yanks  has  a  little  flag  at 
the  head  of  his  grave  too,  only  his  is  the  flag  he 
fought  for,  just  as  ours  is  the  flag  we  fought  for. 
It 's  a  pretty  sight,  my  friend,"  he  added  softly, 
"  with  them  five  little  American  flags  flutterin' 
away  among  the  sixty  or  seventy  others." 

Verily  this  Southern  hospitality  is  no  vain  thing, 
no  mere  empty  show,  or  ingratiating  veneer  to 
make  a  spurious  article  seem  real.  Personal  inter- 
est may  sometimes  rest  at  the  basis  of  a  seeming 
courtesy.  Selfishness  may  lie  often  at  the  bottom 
of  a  superficial  graciousness  of  manner  assumed 
for  the  moment  to  conceal  that  very  selfishness  ;  but 
the  hospitality  that  leads  a  body  of  old  soldiers  to 
grant  at  their  own  cost,  and  to  take  care  of  with 
their  own  loving  hands,  a  green  resting  place,  a 

38 


Southern  Hospitality 

last  sanctuary,  for  a  former  foe,  that  indeed  is 
an  unselfish,  genuine  kind  of  hospitality  which,  like 
the  peace  of  God,  passeth  all  understanding. 


39 


Ill 

GETTING  THE  LEVEL 

ONE  of  the  more  serious  dangers  confronting 
the  platform  speaker  is  the  presumption 
that  his  audience  will  not  prove  sufficiently  intelli- 
gent to  grasp  him  when  he  is  at  what  he  thinks  is 
his  best.  I  use  the  word  "  presumption  "  advis- 
edly ;  for  it  is  sheer  presumption  and  nothing  else, 
and  I  may  add  that  if  my  experience  has  taught 
me  anything,  it  is  that  it  does  not  pay  to  be  so 
presuming.  If  there  is  trouble  anywhere  in  "  get- 
ting one's  stuff  over,"  as  the  saying  is,  the  fault 
will  be  found  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred 
to  be  with  the  lecturer,  and  not  with  his  audience. 
My  most  earnest  advice  to  those  platform  speak- 
ers who  feel  it  necessary  to  "  get  down  to  the  level  " 
of  an  audience,  instead  of  feeling  an  inward  urge 
to  climb  up  to  it,  is  that  they  give  up  the  platform 
altogether,  and  take  up  some  other  occupation 
where  conscious  superiority  really  counts ;  say  that 

40 


Getting  the  Level 

of  head  waiter  in  a  New  York  restaurant,  for  in- 
stance, or  possibly  that  of  literary  critic  on  the 
staff  of  a  periodical,  whose  chief  concern  is  pink 
socks,  lavender  neckties,  and  the  mysteries  of  lin- 
gerie. In  these  occupations  conscious  superiority 
is  an  essential  of  success ;  but  on  the  lecture  plat- 
form the  consciously  superior  person  cannot  in  the 
very  nature  of  things  last  very  long:  not  in  this 
country,  anyhow ;  for,  as  I  have  studied  the  Ameri- 
can people  face  to  face  for  the  past  ten  years  in 
every  State  of  the  Union,  I  have  learned  that  their 
capacity  for  pricking  a  bubble  of  pretense  on  sight 
is  surpassed  only  by  their  high  appreciation  of  a 
speaker  who  immediately  gets  into  the  atmosphere 
of  the  special  occasion  confronting  him. 

For  my  own  part,  I  have  come  to  believe  that 
each  occasion  establishes  its  own  "  best,"  and  that 
the  chief  duty  confronting  me  is  to  measure  up  to 
the  "  best "  demanded  by  that  occasion  if  I  can. 
For  this  reason  one's  lecture  should  be  a  moder- 
ately flexible  affair,  which  can  be  so  adjusted  to 
each  and  every  occasion  that  it  fits  an  audience  as 
nicely  as  a  tailor-made  garment.  A  lecture  writ- 
ten out  beforehand  and  committed  to  memory  can 
never  quite  fulfil  these  requirements.     It  becomes 

41 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

not  a  lecture,  but  an  essay ;  not  platform  work, 
but  literary  work ;  sliould  be  read,  not  heard ;  and 
in  its  delivery  becomes  not  a  sympathetic  talk,  man 
to  man,  but  a  mere  recitation. 

No  one  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  deny,  however, 
that  audiences  do  vary  materially  in  their  capacity 
to  take  in  the  subtler  points  of  a  lecture  "  fired  " 
at  them  from  the  platform.  I  should  not  think  of 
using  the  same  phrases  in  a  talk  before  a  gathering 
in  an  East  Side  settlement  house  in  New  York 
that  I  would  use  before  the  ladies  of  a  Browning 
Club  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston,  or  before  a  body 
of  college  professors,  or  vice  versa.  But  if  I  were 
fortunate  enough  to  be  asked  to  address  all  three, 
I  should  endeavor  to  vary  the  wording  of  my  dis- 
course according  to  the  several  needs  of  each,  and 
base  my  notion  of  my  "  best  "  upon  the  demands 
of  those  particular  needs.  I  confess  also  that  if 
in  one  single  audience  all  three  classes  of  listeners 
were  represented,  I  should  not  hesitate  to  put  my 
thought  into  the  language  required  by  the  capac- 
ity of  the  East  Siders  to  understand,  and  be  fairly 
assured  of  pleasing  everybody ;  for  it  is  my  obser- 
vation of  the  ways  of  ladies  addicted  to  Browning, 
and  of  gentlemen  of  the  academic  kind,  that  they 

42 


Getting  the  Level 

are  after  all  very  human,  and  enjoy  simplicity  of 
discourse  quite  as  much  as  the  other  sort. 

There  is  greater  sincerity  in  *'  playing  to  the 


V- 


^ 


"The   consciously   superior 
person   cannot  last   long 
on  the  lecture  platform," 


gallery  "  than  most  of  the  critics  of  that  habit 
dream  of,  and  personally  I  would  rather  fall  short 
of  the  expectations  of  the  boxes  than  fail  in  the 
eyes  of  the  gallery,  where  reticence  in  the  expres- 
sion of  critical  opinion  is  not  exactly  a  conspicu- 
ous virtue.  To  put  it  more  plainly,  I  should  in- 
43 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

finitely  prefer  the  humiliation  of  seeing  a  highborn 
lady  falling  asleep  in  an  orchestra  chair  because 
of  the  bromidic  quality  of  my  talk,  than  be  re- 
minded of  the  same  by  flying  vegetable  matter  con- 
signed to  me  by  some  dissatisfied  individual  sitting 
up  among  the  "  gods." 

An  amusing,  if  somewhat  radical,  contrast  in 
audiences  befell  my  lot  several  years  ago  in  the 
brief  space  of  sixteen  hours.  In  that  time  I  suc- 
cessively addressed  the  Harvard  Union  at  Cam- 
bridge on  a  Tuesday  evening,  and  the  ladies  of  a 
Woman's  Club  in  a  Boston  suburb  the  following 
morning.  The  audience  at  the  Union  was  gath- 
ered in  the  wonderfully  beautiful  auditorium  of 
Memorial  Hall,  and  contained  not  less  than  twelve 
hundred  particularly  live  wires,  undergraduates 
mostly,  almost  fresh  from  the  football  field,  or  at 
least  still  under  the  influence  of  its  system  of  ex- 
pressing approval. 

As  I  mounted  the  rostrum  bedlam  broke  loose: 
not  necessarily  as  a  tribute  to  myself,  but  because 
frenzy  is  the  modern  collegiate  way  of  making  a 
visitor  feel  welcome.  Thunderous  noises  never  yet 
classified  shook  the  rafters  —  noises  ranging  from 
the  hoarse  clamor  of  an  excited  populace  at  the 

44 


Getting  the  Level 

finish  of  some  great  Olympian  event,  to  the  some- 
what uncertain  cackle  of  a  freshman  voice  chang- 
ing from  soprano  to  bass.  Pandemonium  did  not 
reign:  it  poured.  Not  since  I  visited  the  London 
Zoo  and  witnessed  there  a  fight  between  two  caged 
lions  to  the  excited,  clamorous  interest  of  all  the 
other  beasts  imprisoned  there,  have  I  heard  such  a 
variegated  din  as  greeted  me  on  that  occasion,  and 
I  realized  sympathetically  for  the  first  time  per- 
haps the  true  significance  of  Theodore  Roosevelt's 
"  dee-lighted "  smile  when  as  President  of  the 
United  States  he  took  his  annual  stroll  across  the 
football  field  at  a  Harvard  and  Yale  game,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  "  voice  of  the  people."  So  contagious 
was  it  that  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  join- 
ing in  myself  and  only  the  necessity  of  saving  my 
voice  for  my  lecture  prevented  me  from  being  my- 
self heard  above  the  din. 

That  noise  was  the  keynote  of  the  evening,  I 
think  I  may  say  with  due  modesty  that  my  lecture 
had  one  or  two  touches  of  humor  in  it  —  three  or 
four,  in  fact  —  varying  in  character  from  the 
"  scarcely  perceptible  subtle  "  to  the  "  inevitably 
obvious,"  with  other  sorts  sandwiched  in  between, 
and  none  of  them  was  lost ;  although  I  was  not  per- 
45 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

mitted  to  finish  many  of  my  sentences.  The 
audience  seemed  to  get  in  ahead  of  me  every 
time. 

The  situation  reminded  me  in  a  way  of  the 
grandstand  finish  of  a  poor  paralyzed  old  darky 
named  Joe,  of  whom  I  was  once  told  by  a  Pullman 
car  porter  on  my  way  through  Montana.  Joe  had 
been  a  famous  sportsman  in  his  day ;  but  now  mis- 
fortune had  overtaken  him,  and  he  lay  bedridden, 
wholly  unable  to  use  his  legs,  and  awaiting  the  end. 
Several  of  his  friends,  taking  pity  on  him,  resolved 
to  give  him  the  joy  of  one  last  glorious  coon  hunt. 

They  put  him  on  a  stretcher  and  carried  him 
out  into  the  country  where  that  luscious  creature 
"  abounded  and  abutted."  The  dogs  were  let 
loose,  and  finally  showed  unusual  activity  at  the 
base  of  a  tall  tree ;  but,  to  the  dismay  of  all,  the 
game  turned  out  to  be  no  coon,  but  a  particularly 
hungry,  sore-headed,  old  she-bear. 

As  the  roaring  beast  clambered  down  after  her 
tormentors,  Joe's  litter  bearers,  terrified,  dropped 
their  burden  and  made  off  down  the  road  in  coward 
flight,  and  it  was  not  until  an  hour  after  they  had 
reached  home  in  safety  that  they  thought  of  the 
possible  fate  of  their  paralytic  friend.    Conscience- 

46 


Getting  the  Level 

stricken,  they  resolved  to  go  to  Joe's  home  and 
break  the  news  of  their  cowardly  behavior  to  the 
presumable  widow.  The  good  woman  met  them  at 
the  door. 

"  What  yo'  niggahs  want  round  here  dis  time  o' 
night?  "  she  demanded. 

"  We  come  to  tell  yo'  'bout  Joe,  Mis'  Johnsing," 
said  the  embarrassed  spokesman. 

"  Yo'  kain't  tell  me  nothin'  'bout  Joe  what  Ah 
don'  know  a'ready,"  replied  Mrs.  Johnson  coldly. 

"  Yas  'm ;  but  yo'  don'  know  whar  Joe  is, 
Mis'  Johnsing,"  persisted  the  speaker.  "  We 
done  — " 

"  Yas,  Ah  do  know  whar  Joe  is,"  retorted  the 
lady.     "  He  's  upstairs  in  he  bed." 

"  In  he  bed?  "  echoed  the  astonished  visitors. 

"  Yass,"  said  Mrs.  Johnson.  "  Joe  come  in 
ovah  an  hour  ago  hollerin'  like  a  bullgine  fohty 
yahds  ahead  o'  de  dawgs." 

I  think  I  may  say  without  exaggeration  that 
that  Harvard  Union  audience  even  beat  Joe's  rec- 
ord ;  for  they  were  twice  "  fohty  yahds  ahead  o'  de 
dawgs  "  all  the  way  through,  and  as  for  "  holler- 
in'  "  they  were  not  so  much  like  one  single  "  bull- 
gine "   as  like  a  whole   roundhouse  full  of  them, 

47 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

aided  and  abetted  by  a  couple  of  boiler  factories 
in  full  blast. 

And  then,  only  sixteen  hours  later,  came  the  ad- 
dress at  the  Woman's  Club  ten  miles  out  of  Bos- 
ton ;  the  same  lecture,  in  a  quiet  drawing  room,  be- 
fore forty  ladies  who  embroidered  and  crocheted 
while  I  talked,  and  here  the  point  that  had  raised 
the  roof  and  shaken  the  foundations  of  the  Har- 
vard Union  was  greeted  by  the  tapping  of  a 
thimble  against  the  wooden  frame  of  an  embroidery 
hoop! 

I  cannot  say  which  of  the  two  varieties  of  ap- 
proval pleased  me  more ;  but  I  will  say  that  no 
idea  of  talking  "  up  "  or  "  down  "  to  my  audience 
occurred  to  me  on  either  occasion :  it  was  rather  a 
matter  of  *'  getting  across." 

One  never  can  tell  save  by  the  "  feel  "  of  things 
in  the  hour  of  action  how  they  are  going  to  turn 
out.  Only  this  last  season  I  found  myself,  through 
a  misapprehension  of  the  character  of  my  engage- 
ment, standing  before  an  audience  in  a  New  Eng- 
land amusement  park  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  I 
will  say  frankly  that  if  I  had  known  that  I  was  to 
be  a  sideshow  to  a  Ferris  Wheel  and  a  scenic  rail- 
way, with  pink  lemonade  on  tap  everywhere,  and 

48 


Getting  the  Level 

"  all  for  ten  cents,"  I  should  not  have  accepted  the 
engagement.  While  I  have  admired  them  at  a  re- 
spectful distance,  I  have  never  envied  the  wild  man 
of  Borneo  or  the  bearded  lady  their  opportunities 
for  personal  enrichment ;  but  on  this  occasion  in 
some  way  or  other  I  had  gained  an  impression  that 
m}^  date  had  been  arranged  by,  and  was  to  be  under 
the  auspices  of,  a  combination  of  church  interests, 
designed  to  offset  the  evils  of  Sunday  afternoon 
idleness  in  a  manufacturing  town.  It  was  a  mis- 
understanding, however,  that  I  now  rejoice  in; 
for,  amusement  park  or  not,  sideshow  or  main 
ring,  I  found  it  an  enjoyable  and  educating  ex- 
perience. 

I  approached  it  in  fear  and  trembling,  especially 
when  I  noticed  as  I  was  awaiting  my  "  turn  "  the 
vast  quantities  of  chewing  gum  that  were  being 
sold  to  my  audience  by  the  inevitable  boy  with  the 
basket.  There  is  always  something  disconcerting 
to  a  public  speaker  in  the  constant,  simultaneous, 
and  automatic  movement  of  other  jaws  than  his 
own,  and  in  the  face  of  a  collective  jaw,  made  up 
of  sixteen  hundred  lowers  that  chewed  as  one,  I 
feared  that  mine,  singly  and  alone,  would  find  the 
odds   against  it  overpowering.     Strange  to    say, 

4*9 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

however,  my  real  fear  on  this  occasion  was  not  on 
the  score  of  nij  audience,  but  whether  I  should  be 
able  to  acquit  myself  creditably  before  them.  I 
have  fondly  hoped  that  my  little  talk  contained  a 
message,  and  as  I  observed  these  seekers  after 
pleasure  slowly  gathering,  and  taking  their  places 
on  tiers  of  pine  benches  under  the  kindly  shade  of 
a  row  of  noble  pines,  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  there 
was  any  fruitful  soil  for  my  message  anywhere  it 
was  in  the  hearts  of  just  such  people  as  sat  before 
me  —  toilers,  the  humbler  folk,  the  men  and  women 
whose  lives  had  been  too  busy  with  bread-and-but- 
ter problems  for  the  acquirement  of  culture,  and 
whose  sole  opportunity  for  amusement,  uplifting 
or  otherwise,  came  on  these  very  Sunday  after- 
noons. 

There  were  men  and  boys  there  who  under  other 
conditions  might  have  been  idling  on  street  cor- 
ners. I  counted  three  Chinese,  several  Japanese, 
and  a  half-dozen  Negroes  in  my  audience.  A 
dozen  women  had  their  babies  with  them,  and  many 
a  small  kiddie,  too  young  to  chew  gum  without  ex- 
posure to  the  peril  of  swallowing  it,  nibbled  and 
absorbed  ginger  cookies  as  I  watched  them.  The 
question  became  not  were  they  good  enough  for 

50 


Getting  the  Level 

me,  but  could  I  convince  them  that  I  was  good 
enough  for  them.  It  was  not  a  question  of  "  get- 
ting down  to  their  level,"  but  of  my  own  ability  to 
climb  up  to  the  level  of  my  opportunity.  For  the 
time  being  whatever  superiority  there  was  was  al- 
together on  their  side,  and  the  point  was  how  I 
could  prove  myself  the  real  thing,  and  not  the 
artificial;  how  I  could  find  the  common  denomina- 
tor which  would  enable  us  to  get  on  "  like  a  house 
afire  "  together. 

As  I  was  speaking  the  solution  came  —  and  a 
mighty  simple  one  it  turned  out  to  be ;  for  it  lay 
wholly  in  the  simplest  possible  use  of  the  English 
language.  "  Cut  out  the  big  words,"  I  said  to 
myself.  "  Cut  out  all  unfamiliar  terms.  Get 
right  down  to  good  old  Anglo-Saxon.  Drop  such 
jawbreakers  as  differentiate,  terminology,  intima- 
tions, implications,  and  psychological.''^  My  chief 
hope  became  that  I  might  once  more  at  least  meas- 
ure up  to  that  condition  which  was  clearly  set  forth 
a  great  many  years  ago  by  a  Western  chairman,  at 
a  time  when  I  was  too  much  of  a  novice  to  do 
my  work  even  passably  well,  who  said  to  me 
as  we  walked  to  my  hotel  after  the  lecture  was 
over  : 

51 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  We  don't  care  so  much  for  your  lecture,  Mr. 
Bangs ;  but  we  like  you,  and  wc  're  going  to  have 
you  back." 

Whether  or  not  my  plan  was  successful  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  say ;  but  I  may  be  pardoned,  per- 
haps, for  recording  here  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful compliments  I  have  ever  had,  paid  me  by  a 
threadbare  workingman  who  came  up  behind  me 
as  I  was  leaving  the  park  that  afternoon,  and  put 
his  arm  through  mine  as  he  spoke. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  speak  here  to-night, 
Brother?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  I  am  hurrying  off  to  Boston 
on  the  five  o'clock  train." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry,"  said  he.  "  I  wanted  to 
come  out  and  hear  ye  again." 

Bearing  upon  the  cultivation,  or  lack  of  it,  of 
the  average  American  audience,  I  recall  a  remark 
made  to  me  several  years  ago  by  a  well-known  poet 
from  the  shores  of  Britain,  who  had  come  here  to 
lecture  on  the  Celtic  Renaissance. 

"  I  have  had  a  most  delightful  surprise,"  said 
he,  "  in  the  wonderful  amount  of  real  culture  that 
I  have  found  in  the  United  States,  and  especially 
in  the  smaller  communities.     Why,  do  you  know," 

52 


Getting  the  Level 

he  added,  "  when  I  first  started  in  on  my  work  I 
supposed  that  I  should  have  to  spend  at  least  half 
of  my  time  explaining  to  my  audiences  just  what 
a  Renaissance  was,  and  the  rest  in  consideration 
of  the  Irish  movement ;  but  I  had  n't  been  here  a 
week  before  I  discovered  that  for  the  most  part  the 
people  I  was  to  talk  to  knew  quite  as  much  as  I 
did  about  the  history  of  the  movement,  and  I  had 
all  I  could  do  to  shed  any  new  light  on  it  what- 
soever." 

He  had,  fortunately  for  himself,  made  the  dis- 
covery at  a  critical  part  of  the  "  lecture  game," 
as  some  people  delight  to  call  it,  that  it  was  up  to 
him  to  keep  climbing,  and  not  waste  any  of  his 
valuable  time  trying  to  descend  to  a  lower  level,  if 
he  wished  his  discourse  to  be  favorably  regarded 
in  this  country  —  a  discovery  that  I  devoutly 
wish  some  of  our  modern  editors  and  theatrical 
managers,  who  think  they  must  cater  exclusively 
to  a  "  lowbrow  "  audience,  as  they  call  it,  a  clien- 
tele made  up  out  of  the  whole  cloth  of  their  own 
imaginings,  might  make. 

Our  wonderful  West  frequently  affords  illumi- 
nating incidents  demonstrating  the  real  truth,  as 
discovered  by  our  distinguished  visitor.     I  remem- 

53 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

bcr  going  a  few  years  ago  into  a  small  community 
in  Iowa,  where  possibly  the  English  lecturer  would 
have  looked  for  very  little  in  the  way  of  what  he 
would  consider  learning.  When  sitting  in  the 
office  of  the  chairman  of  the  lecture  committee,  a 
particularly  alert  young  man,  a  lawyer,  and  a 
graduate  of  the  Harvard  Law  School,  the  door 
opened,  and  a  splendid  specimen  of  physical  man- 
hood, a  typical  pioneer  in  appearance,  stalked  in. 
The  chairman  introduced  me  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  he,  "  I  want  you  to  know 
my  father." 

The  caller  gave  my  hand  a  grip  that  even  now 
makes  my  fingers  ache  every  time  I  think  of  it. 
He  then  led  me  to  a  comfortable,  leather-covered 
arm  chair,  and,  after  almost  shoving  me  into  its 
capacious  depths,  seated  himself  directly  in  front 
of  me. 

"  Sit  down,  young  man,"  said  he.  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

"  Fire  ahead !  "  said  I.  "  And  thank  you  for 
calling  me  a  young  man.  I  've  been  feeling  a  trifle 
old  for  a  couple  of  days." 

"  Well,  you  are  young  compared  to  me,"  he 
said.     "  I  'm  eighty." 

54 


Getting  the  Level 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  I.  "  You  don't  look  over 
sixty,  anyhow." 

"  No,"  he  smiled,  "  I  don't  —  but  that 's  loway. 
I  've  been  farmin'  out  here  for  nigh  onto  seventy 
years,  and  we  're  all  too  busy  to  grow  old.  We 
live  forever  in  loway.  It 's  the  grandest  country 
on  the  footstool." 

I  did  n't  feel  at  all  inclined  to  dispute  him,  con- 
sidering his  more  than  six  feet  of  towering  height, 
the  fresh,  healthful  hardness  of  his  weatherbeaten 
face,  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders,  and  depth  of 
his  chest.  I  contented  myself  with  agreeing  with 
him.  And  I  did  n't  have  to  work  hard  to  do  that, 
either ;  for  I  have  known  magnificent  Iowa  as  a 
most  salubrious  State  for  many  years. 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,"  I  said,  "  we  can't  all  pick 
out  our  birthplaces.  I  was  born  in  New  York 
through  no  choice  of  my  own.  Some  are  born  at 
birthplaces,  some  achieve  birthplaces,  and  others 
have  birthplaces  thrust  upon  them  —  which  last 
was  my  case." 

"  Same  here,"  said  he.  "  I  was  born  in  Ohier ; 
but  my  folks  moved  out  here  when  I  was  a  babby. 
I  've  lived  here  ever  since  —  and  I  'm  glad  of  it. 
Of  course  I  hain't  had  your  advantages  in  gettin' 

55 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

an  eddication  —  most  o'  mine  's  in  my  wife's  name 
—  but  I  've  got  some,  and  I  've  had  to  work  so 
dam  hard  to  get  it  that  sometimes  I  think  I  appre- 
ciate it  just  a  leetle  more  than  you  Eastern  boys 
do  who  have  it  served  to  you  on  a  silver  platter.  I 
did  n't  know  how  to  read  till  I  was  twenty-five." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  I.  "  Considering 
the  sort  of  tilings  the  greater  part  of  our  young 
people  are  reading  to-day,  I  wish  that  condition 
might  prevail  a  little  more  widely  than  it  does." 

"  That 's  it,"  said  he.  "  When  a  thing  comes 
too  easy  we  're  not  likely  to  make  the  best  of  it. 
When  I  think  of  how  I  had  to  sweat  to  learn  to 
read  you  don't  ketch  me  wastin'  any  o'  my  talents 
in  that  direction  on  trash." 

"  Then,"  I  put  in,  "  the  chances  are  you  've 
never  read  any  of  my  books." 

"  Not  many  of  'em,"  he  answered ;  "  but  one  or 
two  folks  I  know  has  read  'em,  and  they  tell  me 
there 's  nothin'  deelyterious  about  'cm.  But  I 
tell  ye  it  was  some  work  for  me  to  get  the  knack 
o'  readin';  but  when  it  come  it  come!  Ye  see, 
when  I  first  come  out  here  they  was  n't  any  schools, 
and  they  was  n't  any  too  much  help  around  in  those 
days,  either.     What  with  farmin',  and  diggin'  food 

56 


Getting  the  Level 

out  o*  tlie  ground,  and  fightin'  Injuns,  they 
was  n't  much  spare  time  for  children  to  spend  in 
schools,  even  if  we  'd  a  had  'em.  But  along  about 
the  time  I  was  twenty-three  years  old  we  started 
one.  We  built  a  little  schoolhouse,  and  then  we 
sent  East  for  a  schoolmarm,  and  when  she  come  she 
boarded  up  at  our  house,  and  I  celebrated  by  fallin' 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  her." 

"  Good  work !  "  said  I. 

"  You  bet  it  was  good  work !  "  he  blurted  out, 
with  an  admiring  glance  at  his  son.  "  It  was  the 
best  work  I  ever  done,  and  the  best  part  of  it  was 
she  liked  me,  and  the  first  thing  we  knew  we  got 
married.  Well,  sir,  do  you  know  what  happened 
then  ?  You  're  a  smart  man,  and  you  won't  need 
many  guesses.  It  was  the  very  thing  we  might  ha' 
foreseen.  The  idee  o'  me,  the  husband  o'  the 
schoolmarm,  not  knowin'  how  to  read  —  why,  it  — 
was  —  simply  —  pree — posterous  !  " 

I  don't  believe  Colonel  Roosevelt  ever  put  more 
syrupy  electricity  into  the  first  syllable  of  his  fa- 
mous "  deelighted  "  than  that  old  gentleman  got 
into  the  pre  of  his  "  preeposterous." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  ran  on,  "  and  there  was  no  way 
out  of  it  but  that  she  should  teach  me  to  read. 
57 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

And  she  did!  It  was  a  tougli  proposition  for  tliat 
wonderful  teacher  of  mine ;  but  licr  patience  finally 
pulled  us  through,  and  at  the  end  of  about  a  year 
I  was  ready  to  tackle  'most  any  kind  of  stunt  in 
the  way  of  a  printed  page.  And  then  the  burning 
question  arose.  Now  that  I  know  how,  what  in 
Dothan  shall  I  read  ?  That 's  a  big  problem,  my 
friend,  to  a  young  feller  that  has  earned  his  right 
to  literature  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  I  was  n't 
goin'  to  waste  any  of  my  new  gift  on  flashy  stuff. 
What  I  wanted  was  the  real  thing,  and  one  mornin' 
the  problem  was  solved.  A  copy  of  a  weekly  paper 
come  to  the  house,  with  an  advertisement  in  it  of  a 
book  called  '  The  Origin  of  the  Species,'  by  a  feller 
named  Darwin,  costin'  two  dollars  and  a  half. 
That  was  some  money  in  those  days ;  but  somehow 
or  other  that  title  sounded  good  and  hefty,  and  I 
sent  my  little  two-fifty  by  mail  to  the  publisher, 
and  within  a  week  or  two  '  The  Origin  of  the 
Species  '  was  duly  received,  and  I  went  at  it." 

"  And  what  did  you  make  out  of  it?  "  I  asked, 
my  interest  truly  aroused. 

"  Nothin' —  not  the  first  dam  thing  at  first," 
said  the  old  gentleman ;  "  except  it  made  me  won- 
der if  I  had  n't  lost  my  mind,  or  something.     I  sat 

58 


Getting  the  Level 

down  to  read  the  thing,  and  by  thunder,  sir,  I 
could  n't  make  head  nor  tail  out  of  it !  I  'd  al- 
ways thought  I  knew  something  about  the  English 
language ;  but  this  time  I  was  stumped,  and  it  made 
me  mad. 

"  '  There  's  something  happened  to  me,'  I  said 
to  my  wife.  '  I  've  read  this  darned  first  page 
here  over  five  times,  and  I  'm  blest  if  I  can  get  a 
glimmer  of  anythin'  out  of  it.'  She  smiled  and 
advised  me  to  try  something  easier;  but,  *  Not — • 
on  —  your  —  life!  '  says  I.  *  I  've  been  through 
fire  and  famine  and  wind  and  blizzard  in  my  day. 
I  've  seen  the  roof  over  my  head  burnt  to  a  cinder 
by  savages,  and  I  've  fit  Injuns,  and  come  nigh 
bein'  scalped  by  'em,  and  in  all  my  life,  my  dear,' 
says  I,  '  I  hain't  never  been  stumped  yit,  and  I 
don't  preepose  to  begin  now,  specially  by  a  page 
o'  printed  words,  said  to  be  writ  in  the  English 
language  —  not  —  on  —  your  —  life!  ' 

"  So  I  went  at  it  again.  I  read  it,  and  I  re- 
read it.  I  wrastled  with  every  page,  paragraph, 
and  sentence  in  that  book.  Sometimes  I  had  to 
put  as  much  as  five  days  on  one  page  —  but  by 
Gorry,  son,  when  I  got  it  I  got  it  good,  and  when 
it  come  it  come  with  a  rush  —  and  now  — " 
59 


Frovi  Pillar  to  Post 

The  old  man  paused,  drew  himself  up  very 
straight,  and  squaring  his  shoulders  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  put  his  hands  on  my  knees. 


"If  there's  anj 
thing  you  ^^  ant 
to  know  about 
Darwin's  Ori- 
gin of  Species, 
you  ask  me  I" 


"  And  now,  my  friend,"  he  said,  his  eye  flashing 
with  the  joy  of  victory,  *'  if  there  's  anything  you 
want  to  know  about  Darwin's  Origin  of  the  Species 
—  you  —  just  —  ash  —  me!  " 


60 


THE  GOOD  SAMARITAN 

IF  there  is  any  man  in  this  wide  world  who 
doubts  the  beauty  and  heart  significance  of 
the  Parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan,  he  need  only 
go  out  upon  the  lecture  platform  to  have  his  eyes 
opened.  I  know  of  no  workers  in  the  whole  field 
of  human  effort  this  side  of  tramphood  itself  who 
need  more  often  the  intervention  of  the  Good  Sa- 
maritan to  get  them  out  of  trouble  than  the  follow- 
ers of  that  same  profession. 

Indeed,  I  shall  not  even  except  the  profession  of 
the  Hobo ;  for  there  is  a  certain  license  granted  to 
this  latter  sort  of  Knight  of  the  Road  that  is 
denied  to  us  of  the  Lyceum  Circuit.  We  are  prone 
to  forgive  a  hungry  tramp  for  breaking  into  a  cas- 
ual hencoop  in  search  of  the  wherewithal  to  satisfy 
the  cravings  of  an  empty  stomach,  and  when  his 
weary  bones  demand  a  bed  there  are  numerous  ex- 
pedients to  which  he  may  resort  without  loss  of 

61 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

dignity.  I  doubt,  however,  that  if  Dr.  Hillis,  or 
the  Hon.  Champ  Clark,  or  my  humble  self,  were 
ever  caught  red-handed  with  a  farmer's  fowls  dan- 
gling by  their  legs  from  our  fists,  or  were  to  be  dis- 
covered stealing  a  nap  in  the  soft  seclusion  of  a 
convenient  hayloft,  we  should  get  off  quite  so  easily 
as  do  poor  old  Dusty  Rhodes  and  his  famous 
colleague  Weary  Waggles. 

Even  as  do  our  less  loquacious  brothers  who  foot 
it  across  country,  and  earn  their  living  by  making 
after-dinner  speeches  to  sympathetic  farmers' 
wives,  so  also  do  we  more  advanced  members  of  the 
Fraternity  of  Wanderers  have  often  to  throw  our- 
selves upon  the  tender  mercies  of  others  to  get  us 
out  of  the  unexpected  scrapes  into  which  the  most 
careful  of  us  sometimes  fall.  Life  is  ordinarily 
no  very  simple  thing,  even  to  the  man  who  lives  all 
his  days  in  one  spot,  and  knows  every  curve,  crook, 
and  corner  of  his  special  surroundings.  How 
much  more  complicated  must  it  become,  then,  to 
him  who  has  to  change  his  spots  every  twenty-four 
hours,  and  day  after  day,  night  in  and  night  out, 
readjust  himself  to  new  and  unfamiliar  conditions! 

For  the  most  part  our  troubles,  such  as  they 
are,  have  to  do  with  the  natural  perversity  of  train 

62 


The  Good  Samaritan 

schedules,  or  unexpected  visitations  of  Nature 
which  will  disarrange  the  most  carefully  forecast 
calculations  of  men.  In  the  machinery  of  our  ex- 
istence there  are  probably  more  human  cogs  in- 
volved, which  require  our  own  individual  attention, 
than  in  any  other  known  mechanism.  Even  the 
actor  on  the  road  is  better  looked  after  than  are 
we ;  for  he  has  a  manager  to  arrange  for  his  trans- 
portation, to  look  after  his  luggage,  and  to  attend 
to  all  the  little  things  that  go  to  make  or  mar  the 
comfort  of  travel  while  we  of  the  platform  go  out 
wholly  upon  our  own,  unattended,  and  compelled  at 
all  times  to  shift  for  ourselves. 

I  have  been  in  many  a  scrape  en  route  myself; 
but  so  far  none  of  them  has  found  me  without  some 
personally  devised  expedient  for  my  relief,  or  the 
aid  of  a  chance  Good  Samaritan,  whose  constant 
nearness  in  the  hour  of  need  has  convinced  me  that 
there  are  many  more  of  his  kind  in  existence  than 
most  people  are  willing  to  admit.  I  have  almost 
gone  so  far  at  times  as  to  believe  in  the  "  interven- 
tion of  Providence,"  and  would  quite  do  so  did  I 
not  feel  the  idea  somewhat  belittling  to  the  Divine 
Intelligence  that  orders  our  goings  out  and  our 
comings  in. 

63 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

On  one  occasion  in  the  Far  West  I  was  so  close 
to  a  scene  of  actual  murder  that  I  might  readily 
have  been  held  as  a  material  witness,  and  escaped 
that  great  inconvenience  only  by  pursuing  the  ex- 
ceedingly difficult  policy  of  holding  my  tongue  — 
always  an  arduous  proposition  for  a  professional 
talker.  I  have  faced  starvation  on  a  delayed  train 
in  Oklahoma,  starvation  setting  in  in  my  case  after 
fifteen  hours  without  food,  and  been  suddenly  re- 
lieved by  the  wholly  chance  appearance,  at  the  tail 
end  of  the  train,  dropping  seemingly  out  of  the 
mysterious  regions  of  NoAvhere,  of  an  Italian  driv- 
ing a  wagonload  of  bananas  across  the  track,  just 
as  the  train  was  starting  along  on  another  intermin- 
ably foodJess  stretch ;  an  Italian  who  with  re- 
markably quick  wit  —  in  response  to  the  lure  of  a 
new,  shining  silver  dollar  tossed  into  his  wagon  — 
heaved  a  bunch  of  his  stock  large  enough  to  feed  an 
orphan  asylum  on  to  the  back  platform. 

I  have  even  been  threatened  with  complete  anni- 
hilation, physical  and  spiritual  alike,  by  a  man 
big  enough  to  carry  out  his  threat,  unless  I  would 
join  him  in  a  cocktail  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  escaped  my  doom,  not  as  a  great  many  read- 
ers may  think,  by  accepting  the  invitation,  but 
64 


TJie  Good  Samaritan 

only  through  the  timely  intervention  on  my  behalf 
of  the  blessed  gift  of  sleep,  which  descended  sud- 
denly, and  without  apparent  cause,  upon  my  con- 
vivial adversary  before  he  had  time  to  carry  out 
his  amiable  intentions  looking  toward  my  removal 
from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

But  there  have  been  other  times  when  nothing 
short  of  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Good  Sa- 
maritan himself  has  saved  me  from  disaster.  Two 
of  these  instances  I  recall  with  feelings  of  grati- 
tude, and  I  record  them  here  with  sincere  pleasure, 
since  it  may  be  that  my  willing  helpers  may  read 
what  I  have  written  about  them,  and  learn  from 
the  record  something  of  the  lasting  quality  of  my 
grateful  appreciation  of  their  courtesy. 

The  first  of  these  incidents  occurred  in  the  dis- 
tant city  of  Los  Angeles  on  a  memorable  afternoon 
when  I  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  stranded ; 
not  for  the  lack  of  ready  money,  but  for  the  want 
of  transportation  necessary  to  get  me  from  where 
I  was  to  the  haven  where  I  was  critically  needed  at 
that  moment.  It  was  a  matter  of  making  a  train 
or  losing  a  whole  chain  of  profitable  engagements, 
arranged  in  such  sequence  that  if  one  were  lost  the 
others  would  in  all  probability  go  also. 

65 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

I  was  due  to  lecture  in  the  beautiful  California 
city  on  a  Wednesday  evening,  and  was  to  go  thence 
to  Salt  Lake  City  for  a  Friday  night  lecture.  Un- 
fortunately for  me  it  happened  that  on  Tuesday 
I  was  booked  at  Tucson,  Arizona,  and  with  a 
strange  carelessness  of  consequences  somebody  had 
thrown  a  glass  of  water  on  the  tracks  of  the  South- 
ern Pacific  Railroad,  and  thereby  completely  de- 
moralized the  roadbed.  I  do  not  wish  to  libel  that 
useful  railway  system ;  but  at  that  time  the  casual 
impression  of  the  traveler  on  the  Southern  Pacific 
was  that  its  rails  had  been  laid  on  water,  and  were 
ballasted  with  quicksand.  It  should  be  added  in 
justification  of  the  conditions  that  the  irrepressi- 
ble Salton  Sea,  a  body  of  water  that  has  no  known 
parentage  in  the  matter  of  sources,  or  real  destiny 
in  the  matter  of  utility,  and  acts  accordingly,  had 
been  on  one  of  its  periodic  rampages,  the  proper 
handling  of  which  had  taxed  to  the  uttermost  the 
ingenuity  of  the  engineers  on  whose  shoulders  the 
responsibility  for  the  line  rested.  It  was  Nature 
who  was  to  blame,  and  not  the  authorities. 

At  any  rate,  however,  there  were  such  serious 
delays  on  my  way  from  Tucson  to  Los  Angeles 
that,  scheduled  to  lecture  at  the  latter  city  at  eight 

66 


The  Good  Samaritan 

P.M.  on  Wednesday  evening,  I  did  not  arrive  there 
until  four  o'clock  on  Thursday  morning,  and  even 
a  Western  audience  will  not  submit  to  any  such 
delay  as  that.  Thanks  to  the  quick  wit  of  my 
principals,  who  stood  to  lose  a  considerable  stake 
by  my  failure  to  appear,  another  lecture  was  ar- 
ranged for  Thursday  afternoon  at  one  o'clock,  al- 
though my  train  for  Salt  Lake  was  scheduled  to 
leave  at  two-forty-five.  The  plan  was  for  me  to 
take  a  carriage  out  to  the  lecture  hall,  about  forty 
minutes'  drive  from  the  center  of  activity,  to  go 
upon  the  platform  promptly  at  one  o'clock,  to 
condense  my  talk  into  one  hour,  to  leave  the  plat- 
form at  two,  and  drive  hurriedly  over  to  the  San 
Pedro  station,  and  catch  my  train  with  five  minutes 
to  spare. 

The  first  part  of  the  program  was  carried  out  to 
the  letter,  and  at  five  minutes  after  two  I  was  at 
the  entrance  of  the  hall  ready  for  my  drive  to  the 
station.  But  there  was  no  carriage  or  vehicle  of 
any  other  known  sort  in  sight.  Through  some 
misunderstanding  either  on  my  part  or  on  that  of 
the  local  managers,  the  carriage  that  brought  me 
out  had  not  waited,  and  there  was  no  substitute  to 
be  had  within  reach.     What  to  do  became  a  most 

67 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

embarrassing  question.  The  succeeding  dates  had 
been  arranged  in  such  a  way  that  if  I  failed  to 
catch  that  train  to  Salt  Lake  City  my  whole  tour 
would  come  down  with  a  crash. 

Fortunately  there  was  a  rather  fine  boulevard 
running  in  front  of  the  hall,  a  rare  temptation  to 
speeders  both  in  motors  and  with  horseflesh;  and 
as  my  managers  and  I  were  standing  on  the  curb, 
expressing  our  opinion  as  to  the  intelligence  of 
hackmen  in  general  and  ourselves  in  particular, 
and  hopelessly  scanning  the  horizon  in  search  of 
relief,  there  suddenly  emerged  out  of  the  gloom, 
coming  along  at  a  rapid  pace,  a  horse  lover,  seated 
in  a  light  wagon,  and  driving  a  big  bay  trotter  of 
no  mean  abilities.  He  was  striking  nothing  poorer 
than  a  two-forty  gait,  and  as  he  loomed  bigger 
and  bigger  as  he  drew  nearer  he  looked  like  a  run- 
away avalanche ;  but  .as  he  came  the  idea  flashed 
across  my  mind  that  here  was  my  only  salvation. 
I  therefore  sprang  out  into  the  middle  of  the  road, 
directly  in  his  path,  and  waved  my  arms  violently 
at  him.  The  driver  drew  in  his  reins  with  a  jerk, 
and  man,  horse,  buggy,  and  all  came  to  a  sliding, 
grinding  stop.  I  cannot  say  that  his  first  remark 
was  wholly  cordial. 

68 


The  Good  Samaritan 

"What  the  dash  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he 
roared. 

I  panted  out  my  explanation  —  how  my  car- 
riage had  not  come,  how  much  depended  on  my 
catching  my  train,  and  how  completely  I  had  relied 
on  him. 

"  Oh,  that 's  it,  eh?  "  he  said,  amiably  calming 
down.  "  I  thought  you  'd  escaped  from  a  lunatic 
asylum  or  something.  Jump  in.  I  can't  take  you 
all  the  way  to  the  station,  because  I  've  got  an  en- 
gagement myself  at  two-fifteen;  but  I'll  land  you 
at  the  hotel  in  a  jiffy." 

I  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  in  a  moment 
we  were  bounding  along  at  breakneck  speed  in  the 
direction  of  the  city.  We  covered  the  distance 
that  had  consumed  forty  minutes  before  the  lec- 
ture in  twelve  minutes,  and  all  seemed  well  —  only 
it  was  not  well ;  for,  arriving  at  the  hotel,  I  found 
myself  still  fifteen  minutes  distant  from  the  rail- 
way station,  and  not  a  taxi  or  other  kind  of  cab 
to  be  had.  What  was  more,  the  electric  roads 
were  blocked  by  a  fire  or  something  farther  up  the 
street.  I  was  as  badly  off  as  ever  ■■ —  and  then  en- 
tered the  Good  Samaritan! 

As  I  stood  there  in  front  of  the  hotel  making 
69 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

sundry  observations,  most  of  them  unprintable, 
concerning  the  quality  of  my  luck,  a  man  of  fine 
appearance  came  out  of  the  hotel  and  stepped 
quickly  across  the  sidewalk  to  a  large  touring  car 
that  stood  awaiting  him  by  the  curb.  He  opened 
the  door,  and  after  seating  himself  in  the  tonneau 
leaned  forward  ho  give  his  instructions  to  his 
chauffeur,  when  I  was-  seized  with  the  inspiration 
that  here  indeed  was  truly  my  White  Hope. 
Again  I  took  my  chances.  I  sprang  forward,  laid 
my  hand  gently  on  his  arm,  and  blurted  out : 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  my  name  is  Bangs  — 
John  Kendrick  Bangs.  I  am  out  here  lecturing, 
and  if  I  don't  catch  that  two-forty -five  train  for 
Salt  Lake  City  I  shall,  lose  half  a  dozen  engage- 


"I  cannot  say  that  his  first  remark  was  wholly  cordial. 

70 


The  Good  Samaritan 

merits.  If  you  have  ever  read  any  of  my  books 
and  liked  them,  sir,  you  will  be  willing  to  do  me  a 
service.  If  you  've  read  'em  and  not  liked  them, 
you  '11  be  glad  to  get  me  out  of  town.  Won't  you 
be  a  Good  Samaritan  and  give  me  a  lift  to  the  sta- 
tion?    Yoii  ''re  my  only  hope!  " 

"  Sure  thing !  "  he  answered  without  an  instant's 
hesitation,  opening  the  door.  "  Get  in  —  and, 
James,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  chauffeur,  "  the 
San  Pedro  station,  and  never  mind  the  speed  limit." 

I  clambered  into  the  car  as  quickly  as  I  could, 
and  the  car  fairly  leaped  forward. 

"  It 's  mighty  good  of  you,"  said  I  breathlessly 
as  we  sped  along. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  my  host. 
"  Glad  to  be  of  service  to  you.  I  read  your 
*  House-Boat-on-the-Styx '  once  with  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure ;  but  there  's  one  thing  about  you  that  I 
like  a  great  sight  better  than  I  do  your  humor." 

"What's  that?"  I  asked. 

'*  Your  nerve,  sir,'*  he  replied,  handing  out  a 
cigar. 

We  caught  the  train  with  eight  minutes  to  spare, 
and  as  it  drew  out  of  the  station  I  realized  possibly 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  in  my  particular 

71 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

line  of  business  nerve  is  a  vastly  better  asset  than 
nerves,  and  I  have  faithfully  cultivated  the  one  and 
resolutely  refused  to  admit  the  existence  of  the 
other  ever  since,  to  my  very  great  advantage. 

It  may  not  be  without  interest  to  record  here 
that  in  spite  of  all  my  trials  and  tribulations  at 
Los  Angeles,  the  Salt  Lake  City  engagement  was 
lost.  Our  engine  broke  down  in  the  wilds  of  Ne- 
vada, and  we  did  not  reach  Salt  Lake  until  long 
after  midnight  the  following  night.  Nevertheless 
I  kept  my  hand  in ;  for  in  response  to  the  request 
of  some  of  my  fellow  passengers  I  delivered  my  lec- 
ture that  night  in  the  observation  car  of  the  stalled 
train  in  the  Nevada  hills,  to  an  audience  made  up 
of  fifteen  fellow  travelers,  the  train  crew,  and  a 
half-dozen  Pullman  porters. 

I  hesitate  to  think  of  what  might  have  been  my 
fate  had  I  employed  similar  tactics  to  get  me  out 
of  such  troubles  in  New  York  or  Boston,  or  some 
other  of  our  Eastern  cities.  The  chances  are  that 
my  name  would  have  been  spread  upon  the  blotter 
of  some  police  court  as  a  disorderly  person ;  but  in. 
our  great  West  —  well,  things  seem  somehow  very 
different  out  there.  There  are  not  so  many  sky- 
scrapers in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  the  hori- 

72 


The  Good  Samaritan 

zon  of  humanity  may  therefore  be  a  little  broader ; 
and  perhaps  too  the  strugglers  out  there  are  closer 
to  the  period  of  their  own  trials  and  tribulations 
than  we  are  here  in  the  Kast,  and  become  in  conse- 
quence more  instantly  sympathetic  when  they  see 
the  signal  of  distress  flying  before  them. 

The  second  incident  occurred  nearer  home.     It 
was  in  Oliio,  at  the  time  of  the  floods  that  wrought 
such   havoc    in   Dayton    and   thereabouts    in   the 
spring  of  1913.     I  had  lectured  the  night  before 
at  Ironton,  and  on  my  way  to  Cleveland  was  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  marooned  at  Columbus. 
Much  doubt  existed  as  to  whether  traffic  out  of 
Columbus  was  at  all  possible,  so  completely  demor- 
alized were  all  the  railroads  centering  there.     It 
is  a  cardinal  principle  with  lyceum  workers,  how- 
ever, to  make  every  possible  effort  to  get  through 
to  their  engagements  at  whatever  inconvenience  or 
cost.     So  in  spite  of  the  warnings  of  subordinate 
officials  I  took  my  chances  and  went  out  on  a  morn- 
ing train  which  passengers  took  at  their  own  peril, 
through   scenes   of  dreadful  desolation,   and  over 
a   disquietingly    soggy    roadbed,    until    the    train 
reached  an  Ohio  city  which  I  shall  not  identify  by 
name  here.     While  I  have  no  hard  feelings  against 

73 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

it,  or  against  any  of  its  citizens,  I  cannot  bring 
myself  to  speak  of  it  in  terms  of  "  endearment," 
as  I  should  much  prefer  to  do 

At  this  point  our  train  came  to  a  standstill,  and 
the  announcement  was  made  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  get  through  to  Cleveland  because  all  the 
bridges  had  been  washed  away.  Motoring  over 
for  the  same  reason  was  out  of  the  question,  and 
the  engagement  was  lost.  I  immediately  repaired 
to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  off  several  de- 
spatches —  to  the  Cleveland  people,  announcing 
my  inability  to  get  through;  to  my  agents,  telling 
them  of  my  plight;  and  to  my  family,  assuring 
them  of  my  safety.  These  telegrams  broke  my 
"  financial  back  " ;  for  when  I  had  paid  for  them  I 
found  myself  with  only  forty  cents  left  in  my 
pocket,  marooned  possibly  for  days  in  wettest 
Ohio,  hungry  as  a  bear,  and  not  a  friend  in  sight. 

I  did  not  worry  much  over  the  situation,  how- 
ever; for  on  several  other  occasions  when  I  found 
myself  penniless  in  the  West  and  in  the  South  I 
had  not  found  any  trouble  in  getting  some  one  to 
cash  my  check.  So,  after  assuring  myself  that 
my  train  would  be  held  there  for  at  least  two  or 
three  hours  before  returning  to  Columbus,  I  set 
74. 


The  Good  Samaritan 

off  blithe-heartedly  to  secure  the  replenisliment  of 
my  pocket.  In  the  heavy  rain  I  walked  up  the 
main  thoroughfare  of  the  httle  city,  and  to  my 
great  relief  espied  a  national  bank  on  one  of  the 
four  corners  of  its  square.  I  walked  boldly  in  and 
addressed  the  cashier,  telling  him  my  story  with  a 
few  "  well  chosen  words." 

"  I  thought  possibly,"  said  I,  as  he  listened  with- 
out too  great  a  display  of  interest,  "  that  in  view 
of  all  these  circumstances  you  would  be  willing  to 
take  a  chance  on  me,  and  cash  my  check  for  twenty- 
five  dollars." 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,"  he  replied,  "  this  is  a 
bank!  " 

I  restrained  a  facetious  impulse  to  tell  him  that 
I  was  surprised  to  hear  it,  having  come  in  under 
the  impression  that  it  was  a  butcher  shop,  where  I 
could  possibly  buy  an  umbrella,  or  a  much  needed 
eight-day  clock. 

"  I  know,"  I  contented  myself  with  saying,  smil- 
ing the  while.  "  That 's  why  I  came  here  for 
money." 

"  Well,  you  've  come  to  the  wrong  place,"  he 
blurted  out.  **  We  are  Tiot  running  an  asylum  to 
give  first  aid  to  the  injured!  " 

75 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  I  replied.  "  You  are  quite 
right,  and  perhaps  I  should  not  have  asked  such  a 
favor  —  but  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing,"  I  added. 
"  To-morrow  or  next  day  when  the  Governor  of 
this  State  issues  his  appeal  for  aid  for  the  stricken, 
as  he  surely  will,  you  will  find  that  the  financial 
men  in  that  part  of  the  world  where  I  come  from 
are  running  just  such  institutions,  and  when  that 
golden  horde  for  the  relief  of  your  people  pours 
in  from  mine  I  hope  it  will  make  you  properly 
ashamed  of  yourself,  if  you  are  not  so  already." 

It  was  as  fruitless  as  reading  a  Wordsworth 
sonnet  on  nature  to  a  rhinoceros;  for  all  he  did 
was  to  grunt. 

"  Humph !  "  said  he,  and  I  walked  out. 

Another  bank  was  soon  found,  where  I  secured 
not  accommodation  but  a  more  courteous  refusal. 
The  president  of  the  bank  was  one  of  the  most 
sympathetic  souls  I  have  ever  met,  and  would 
gladly  cash  anybody's  draft  for  me ;  but  my  own 
check,  that  was  out  of  the  question.  He  was  a 
trustee  of  the  funds  in  his  charge  —  poor  chap,  ap- 
parently without  a  cent  of  his  own  on  deposit. 
However,  he  was  courteous,  and  vocally  sympa- 
thetic.    He  realized  very  keenly  the  difficulties  of 

76 


The  Good  Samaritan 

my  position,  and  actually  escorted  me  as  far  as  the 
door  to  see  me  safely  to  the  perils  of  the  pave,  ex- 
pressing the  hope  that  I  would  soon  find  some  way 
out  of  my  difficulty.  I  returned  to  the  train,  ate 
thirty  cents'  worth  of  sardines  in  the  dining  car, 
gave  the  waiter  a  ten-cent  tip,  and  repaired  to 
the  smoking  compartment  absolutely  penniless.  A 
number  of  others  were  gathered  there,  and  we 
naturally  fell  into  discussing  the  day's  adventures. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  've  just  had  one  of  the 
strangest  experiences  of  my  life.  I  've  been  in  all 
parts  of  the  United  States  in  the  last  eight  years, 
and  never  until  to-day  have  I  found  a  place  so  poor 
in  sympathy,  and  easy  money,  that  I  could  n't  get 
my  check  cashed  if  I  happened  to  need  the  funds. 
Why,  I  've  known  a  Mississippi  hotelkeeper  who 
was  so  poor  that  his  wife  had  to  do  all  the  cham- 
bermaid's work  in  the  house,  to  go  out  at  midnight 
to  borrow  twenty-five  dollars  from  a  neighbor  to 
help  me  out ;  but  here,  with  tliis  flood  knocking 
everything  galley  west,  I  can't  raise  a  cent !  " 

And  I  Avent  on  and  narrated  my  experience  with 
the  two  national  banks  as  recorded  here. 

"Well,  by  George!"  ejaculated  one  of  the  men 
seated  opposite  to  me,  slapping  his  knee  vigorously 

77 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

as  I  finished.  "  I  'm  an  Ohio  man,  sir,  and  I  blush 
for  the  State.  I  '11  cash  your  check  for  you  on 
your  looks.     How  much  do  you  want.'*  " 

"  Twenty-five  dollars,"  said  I. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  pulling  a  well-filled  wallet 
from  his  pocket,  and  counting  out  five  five-dollar 
bills.     "  There  's  the  stuff." 

I  thanked  him,  and  drawing  my  check  handed 
it  over  to  him.  He  took  it,  and  glanced  at  the 
signature. 

"  What?  "  he  exploded.     "  The  Idiot?  " 

This  was  the  title  of  one  of  my  books. 

"  Guilty  !  "  said  I. 

"  Here,  you !  "  he  cried,  pulling  his  wallet  again 
from  his  pocket,  and  holding  it  wide  open,  display- 
ing a  tempting  bundle  of  ten-dollar  bills  within. 
"  Here  —  just  help  yourself!  " 

And  yet  there  are  people  in  this  world  who  ask 
if  "  literature  "  pays  ! 

About  the  most  Samaritan  of  the  Good  Samari- 
tans I  ever  encountered  I  met  in  February  last  in 
one  of  the  most  flourishing  of  our  northwestern 
cities.  He  was  a  Samaritan  with  what  the  modern 
critic  would  call  a  "  kick  "  to  him  —  or  at  least 
it  struck  me  that  way.     As  I  made  my  way  north- 

78 


The  Good  Samaritan 

ward  from  Minneapolis  to  fill  my  engagement  there 
I  was  seized  with  a  terrific  toothache  which  for  the 
time  being  destroyed  pretty  nearly  all  my  interest 


"I  'm   an   Ohio  man,    and  I  '11   cash 
the   check   for   you   on   your   looks." 

in  life.  The  oflPending  molar  was  far  back  in  the 
region  of  the  wisdom  section,  and  inasmuch  as  it 
had  been  somewhat  loose  in  its  behavior  foi  several 
days  I  decided  to  be  rid  of  it.  All  my  efforts  to 
extract  it  myself  were  unavailing,  and  finally  after 
a  last  desperate  effort  to  pull  it  out  myself  I  re- 
turned to  my  chair  in  the  Pullman  car  and  in- 
formed the  Only  Muse  who  upon  this  trip  was  See- 
ing America  with  me  that  our  first  duty  on.  reaching 

79 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

our  destination  was  to  find  a  dentist  and  get  rid  of 
It. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  careful  to  get  the  right  kind 
of  a  man,"  said  she.  "  We  can't  afford  any  quack 
doctors,  you  know." 

At  this  moment  a  charming  woman  seated  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  car  leaned  over  and  said, 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude,  but  I  have  seen  how 
you  were  suffering,  and  I  just  overheard  your  re- 
mark. Now  my  son-in-law  is  a  dentist,  and  we 
think  he  Is  a  good  one.  He  Is  coming  to  meet  me 
at  the  station,  and  I  think  possibly  he  will  be  will- 
ing to  help  you." 

I  thanked  the  lady,  and  expressed  the  hope  that 
he  would. 

On  our  arrival  at  the  station  the  young  man  ap- 
peared as  was  expected,  and  my  kindly  chaperone 
presented  the  case. 

"  He  has  been  suffering  dreadfully,  James,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  told  him  you  would  pull  his  tooth  out 
for  him.'* 

"  But,  my  dear  mother,"  said  the  young  man, 
"  we  are  In  a  good  deal  of  a  hurry.  We  have  an 
engagement  for  to-night.  My  office  Is  closed,  and 
we  are  not  dressed  for  — " 

80 


The  Good  Sa7nantan 

"  Thanks  just  the  same,"  said  I.  "  I  am  sure 
you  would  help  me  if  you  could  —  maybe  you  will 
do  the  next  best  thing.  I  can't  lecture  unless  I 
have  this  confounded  thing  out." 

"  Lecture .''  "  said  he.  "  You  are  not  John  Ken- 
drick— " 

"  Yes  —  I  am,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  that 's  different.  You  are  our 
engagement.  Come  up  to  my  office,  and  I  '11  fix 
you  up  in  a  jiffy." 

So  we  marched  five  long  blocks  up  to  his  office, 
where  I  was  soon  stretched  out,  and  the  desired 
operation  put  through  with  neatness  and  despatch. 

"  Well,  doctor,"  said  I  as  he  held  the  offending 
molar  up  before  me  tightly  gripped  in  his  forceps, 
"  you  have  given  me  the  first  moment  of  relief  I 
have  had  all  day.  My  debt  in  gratitude  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  repay,  but  the  other  I  think  I  can 
handle.     How  much  do  I  owe  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Mr.  Bangs,"  he  replied. 
"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  Oh,  that 's  nonsense,  doctor,"  I  retorted. 
"  You  are  a  professional  man,  and  I  am  a  stranger 
to  you  —  you  must  charge  something." 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  he,  smilingly. 
81 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  You  arc  no  stranger  to  me.  I  have  been  read- 
ing your  books  for  the  past  twenty  years,  and  it  's 
a  positive  pleasure  to  pull  your  teeth." 


V 

A  VAGRANT  POET 

THE  inimitable  and  forever  to  be  lamented  Gil- 
bert, in  one  of  his  delightful  songs  in  Pina- 
fore, bade  us  once  to  remember  that  — 

Things  are  seldom  what  they  seem — 
Skim-milk   masquerades    as   cream; 
Highlows  pass  as  patent-leathers; 
Jackdaws  strut  in  peacock's  feathers. 

The  good  woman  who  sang  this  song  —  little 
Buttercup,  they  called  her  —  was  in  a  pessimistic 
mood  at  the  moment ;  for  had  she  not  been  so  she 
would  have  reversed  the  sentiment,  showing  us  with 
equal  truth  how  sometimes  cream  masquerades  as 
skim  milk,  and  how  underneath  the  wear  and  tear 
of  time  what  outwardly  appears  to  be  a  "  high 
low  "  still  possesses  some  of  the  glorious  polish  of 
the  "  patent  leather."  Everywhere  I  travel  I  find 
something  of  this  latter  truth;  but  never  was  it 
more  clearly  demonstrated  than  when  on  one  of 
my  Western  jaunts  I  came  unexpectedly  upon  an 

83 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

almost  overwhelming  revelation  of  a  finely  poetic 
nature  under  an  apparently  rough  and  unpromis- 
ing exterior. 

It  happened  on  a  trip  in  Arizona  back  in  1906. 
My  train  after  passing  Yuma  was  held  up  for  sev- 
eral hours.  Ordinarily  I  should  have  found  this 
distressing;  but,  as  the  event  proved,  it  brought  to 
me  one  of  the  most  delightfully  instructive  ex- 
periences I  have  yet  had  in  the  pursuit  of  my  plat- 
form labors.  As  the  express  stood  waiting  for 
another  much  belated  train  from  the  East  to  pass, 
the  door  of  the  ordinary  day  coach  —  in  which  I 
had  chosen  to  while  away  the  tedium  of  the  morn- 
ing, largely  because  it  was  fastened  to  the  end 
of  the  train,  whence  I  could  secure  a  wonderful 
view  of  the  surrounding  country  —  was  opened, 
and  a  man  apparently  in  the  last  stages  of  poverty 
entered  the  car. 

He  was  an  oldish  man,  past  sixty,  I  should  say, 
and  a  glance  at  him  caused  my  mind  instinctively 
to  revert  to  certain  descriptions  I  had  heard  of  the 
sad  condition  of  the  downtrodden  Westerner,  con- 
cerning whose  unhappy  lot  our  friends  the  Popu- 
lists used  to  tell  us  so  much.  He  looked  so  very 
poor  and  so  irremediably  miserable  that  he  excited 

84. 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

my  sympathy.  Upon  his  back  there  lay  loosely 
the  time-rusted  and  threadbare  remnant  of  what 
had  once  in  the  days  of 
its  pride  and  freshness 
been  a  frock  coat,  now 
buttonless,  spotted,  and 
fringing  at  tlie  edges. 
His  trousers  matched. 
His  neck  was  collarless, 
a  faded  blue  polka-dotted 
handkerchief  serving  as 
both  collar  and  tie.  His 
hat  suggested  service  in 
numerous  wars,  and  on 
his  feet,  bound  there  for 
their  greater  security  with 
ordinary  twine,  were  the 
uppers  and  a  perforated 
part  of  the  soles  of  a 
one-time  pair  of  congress 
gaiters.  As  for  his  face  —  well,  it  brought  vi- 
vidly to  mind  the  lines  of  Spenser  — 

His    rawbone   cheekes,    through   penurie    and   pine, 
Were  shronlic  into  his  jawes,  as  he  did  never  dyne. 

The  old  fellow  shambled  feebly  to  the  seat  ad- 
85 


In  the  last  stages  of  poverty. 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

joining  my  own,  gazing  pensively  out  of  the  win- 
dow for  a  few  moments,  and  then  turning  fixed  a 
pair  of  penetrating  blue  eyes  upon  me.  "  Pretty 
tiresome  waiting,"  he  ventured,  in  a  voice  not  al- 
together certain  in  its  pitch,  as  if  he  had  not  had 
much  chance  to  use  it  latterly. 

"  Very,"  said  I  carelessly.  "  But  I  suppose 
we  've  got  to  get  used  to  this  sort  of  thing." 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  agreed;  "but  just  the  same 
for  a  man  in  your  business  I  should  think  it  would 
be  something  awful.  Don't  it  get  on  your 
nerves?  " 

"What  do  you  know  about  my  business?"  I 
asked,  my  curiosity  aroused. 

"  Oh,"  he  laughed,  "  I  know  who  you  are.  I 
read  one  of  your  books  once.  I  've  forgotten  what 
it  was  about ;  but  it  had  your  picture  in  the  front 
of  it,  and  I  knew  you  the  minute  I  saw  you.  Be- 
sides I  was  down  in  Tucson  the  other  day,  and  — 
you  're  going  to  lecture  at  Tucson  Tuesday  night, 
are  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  if  I  ever  get  there,"  said  I.  "  At  this  rate 
of  speed  I  'm  afraid  it  '11  be  season  after  next." 

"  Well,  they  '11  be  ready  for  you  when  you  ar- 
rive,'* he  chuckled.     "  They  've  got  your  picture 

86 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

plastered  all  over  the  place.  It 's  in  every  drug- 
store and  saloon  window  in  the  town.  They  've 
got  it  tacked  onto  every  tree,  hydrant,  hitching 
post,  billboard,  and  pump,  from  the  railway  sta- 
tion out  to  the  university  and  back.  I  ain't  sure 
that  there  ain't  a  few  of  'em  nailed  onto  the  ash 
barrels.  You  can't  look  anywhere  without  seeing 
John  Kendrick  Bangs  staring  out  at  you  from  the 
depths  of  a  photographer's  arm  chair.  Fact  is," 
he  added  with  a  whimsical  wink,  "  I  left  Tucson  to 
get  away  from  the  Bangs  rash  that 's  broken  out  all 
over  the  place,  and,  by  Jehosaphat !  I  get  aboard 
this  train,  and  there  sets  the  original!  " 

I  laughed  and  handed  the  old  fellow  a  cigar, 
which  he  accepted  with  avidity,  biting  off  at  least 
a  quarter  of  it  in  his  eagerness  to  get  down  to  busi- 
ness. 

"  I  'm  not  so  bad  as  I  'm  lithographed,"  I  said 
facetiously. 

"  So  I  see,"  he  replied,  "  and  it  must  be  some 
comfort  to  you  to  realize  that  if  you  ever  get  down 
and  out  financially  you  've  got  a  first-class  case 
for  libel  against  the  feller  that  lithographed 
you." 

He  puffed  away  in  silence  for  a  minute  or  two, 
87 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

and  then  leaning  over  the  arm  of  his  scat  he  re- 
opened the  conversation. 

"  I  saj,  Mr.  Bangs,"  he  said,  rather  wistfully,  I 
thought,  "  you  must  read  a  great  deal  from  one 
year's  end  to  another  —  maybe  you  could  recom- 
mend one  or  two  good  books  for  me  ?  " 

It  was  something  of  a  poser.  Somehow  or  other 
he  did  not  suggest  at  first  glance  anything  re- 
motely connected  with  a  literary  taste,  and  I  tem- 
porized with  the  problem. 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  answered  cautiously.  "  I  do 
run  through  a  good  many  books  in  the  course  of 
a  year ;  but  I  don't  like  to  prescribe  a  course  of 
literary  treatment  for  a  man  unless  I  have  had  time 
to  diagnose  his  case,  and  get  at  his  symptoms. 
You  know  you  might  n't  like  the  same  sort  of  thing 
that  I  do." 

"  That  may  be  so  too,"  he  observed  coolly. 
"  But  we  've  got  some  time  on  our  hands  —  sup- 
pose you  try  me  and  find  out.  I  'm  willin'  to 
testify.  Fire  ahead  —  nothin'  like  a  few  experi- 
ments." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  personally  I  prefer  biography 
to  any  other  kind  of  reading.  I  like  novels  well 
enough;  but  after  all  I  'd  rather  read  the  story  of 

88 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

one  real  man's  life,  sympathetically  presented,  than 
any  number  of  absorbing  tales  concerning  the 
deeds  and  emotions  of  the  fictitious  creatures  of  a 
novelist's  fancy.  I  like  Boswell  better  than  Field- 
ing, and  Dr.  Johnson  is  vastly  more  interesting  to 
me  than  Tom  Jones." 

"  Same  here,"  said  my  new  friend.  "  That 's 
what  I  've  always  said.  What 's  the  use  of  puttin' 
in  all  your  time  on  fiction  when  there  's  so  much 
romance  to  be  found  in  the  real  thing?  The 
only  trouble  is  that  there  ain't  much  in  the  way 
of  good  biography  written  these  days  —  is 
there.?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  said  I.  "  There  's  plenty  of 
it,  and  now  and  then  we  come  upon  something  that 
is  tremendously  stimulating.  I  don't  suppose  it 
would  interest  you  very  much,  but  I  have  just  fin- 
ished a  two-volume  life  of  a  great  painter  —  it  is 
called  '  Memorials  of  Edward  Bume-Jones,'  writ- 
ten by  his  wife." 

The  old  man's  face  fairly  shone  with  interest  as 
I  spoke,  and  reaching  down  into  the  inner  pocket 
of  his  ragged  coat  he  produced  a  time-smeared, 
pocket-worn  envelop  upon  which  to  make  a  memo- 
randum, and  then  after  rummaging  around  in  the 

89 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

mjsterious  recesses  of  an  over-large  waistcoat  for 
a  moment  or  two  he  brought  forth  tlie  merest  stub 
of  a  pencil. 

"Who  publishes  that  book?  "  he  askea,  leaning 
forward  and  gazing  eagerly  into  my  face. 

"  Why  —  the  Macmillan  Company,"  I  replied, 
somewhat  abashed.  "  But  —  would  you  be  inter- 
ested in  that  ?  " 

And  then  came  the  illuminating  moment  —  I 
fear  its  radiance  even  affected  the  color  of  my 
cheeks  when  I  thought  of  my  somewhat  patroniz- 
ing manner  of  a  moment  before. 

"  I  guess  I  would  be  interested  in  that ! "  he  re- 
plied with  a  real  show  of  enthusiasm.  **  /  ^ve  al- 
ways been  interested  m  that  whole  Preraphaelite 
movement!  " 

I  tried  manfully  to  conceal  my  astonishment; 
but  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  in  spite  of  all  my 
efforts  my  eyes  gave  my  real  feelings  away.  I 
swallowed  hard,  and  stared,  and  the  old  man  chuc- 
kled as  he  went  on. 

"  They  were  a  great  bunch,  that  crowd,"  he  ob- 
served reflectively,  "  and  I  don't  suppose  the  world 
realizes  yet  what  we  owe  to  them  and  their  in- 
fluence.    Burne-Jones,    William    Morris,    Madox 

90 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

Brown,  Holman  Hunt,  and  Rossetti  —  I  suppose 
you  know  your  Rossetti  like  a  book?  " 

I  tried  to  convey  the  impression  that  I  was  not 
without  due  familiarity  with  and  appreciation  of 
my  Rossetti;  but  I  began  to  feel  myself  getting 
into  deeper  water  than  I  had  expected. 

"  There  's  a  lot  of  fine  things  in  poetry  and  in 
paint  we  'd  never  have  had  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
those  fellows,"  the  old  man  went  on.     "  Of  course 
there  's  a  lot  of  minds  so  calloused  over  with  the 
things  of  the  past  that  they  can't  see  the  beauty 
in  anything  that  takes  'em  out  of  a  rut,  even  if  it 's 
really  old  and  only  seems  to  be  new.     That 's  al- 
ways the  way  with  any  new  movement,  and  the  fel- 
low that  starts  in  at  the  head  of  the  procession 
gets  a  lot  of  abuse.     Take  poor  old  Rossetti,  for 
instance,  how  the  critics  did  hand  it  to  him,  espe- 
cially Buchanan  —  the  idea  of  a  man  like  Robert 
Buchanan     even     daring    to     criticize     Rossetti's 
*  Blessed     Damozel ' !     It 's     preposterous  !     It 's 
like  an  elephant  trying  to  handle  a  cobweb  to  find 
out  how  any  living  thing  could  make  a  home  of  it. 
Of  course  the  elephant  could  n't !  " 

I  quite  agreed  that  the  average  elephant  of  my 
acquaintance  would  have  found  the  average  cobweb 

91 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

a  rather  insecure  retreat  in  which  to  stretch  his 
weary  length. 

"  Do  jou  remember,"  he  went  on,  "  what  Bu- 
chanan said  about  those  lines  ?  — 

"And  still  she  bowed  herself  and  stooped 

Out  of  the  circling  charm 
Until  her  bosom  must  have  made 

The  bar  she  leaned  on  warm. 

He  said  those  lines  were  bad,  and  that  the  third 
and  fourth  were  quite  without  merit,  and  almost 
without  meaning!     Fancy  that !  — 

"  Until  her  bosom  must  have  made 
The  bar  she  leaned  on  warm 

almost  without  meaning!  Suffering  Centipedes !  " 
he  cried  indignantly.  "  That  man  must  have  been 
brought  up  on  the  bottle !  " 

I  think  I  may  truthfully  say  that  from  that  point 
on  I  listened  to  the  old  man  breathlessly.  Bu- 
chanan's monograph  on  "  The  Fleshly  School  of 
Poetry  "  though  wholly  out  of  sympathy  with  my 
own  views  has  long  been  a  favorite  bit  of  literary 
excoriation  with  me,  comparable  to  Victor  Hugo's 
incisive  flaying  of  Napoleon  III,  and  to  have  it 
spring  up  at  me  thus  out  of  the  alkali  desert, 
through  the  medium  of  this  beloved  vagabond,  was 
92 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

indeed  an  experience.  Instead  of  conversing  with 
my  friend,  I  turned  myself  into  what  theatrical  peo- 
ple call  a  "  feeder  "  for  the  time  being,  putting 
questions,  and  now  and  then  venturing  a  remark 


'Suffering  Cen 
tipedes!' '  he 
cried.      "That 
man  must 
have  been 
brought  up  on 
the  bottle  1" 


sufficiently  suggestive  to  keep  him  going.  His 
voice  as  he  ran  on  gathered  in  strength,  and  waxed 
tuneful  and  mellow,  until,  if  I  had  closed  my  eyes, 
I  could  almost  have  brought  myself  to  believe  that 
it  was  our  much-loved  Mark  Twain  who  was  speak- 
ing with  that  musical  drawl  of  his,  shot  through 

93 


From  Pillar  to  Fust 

and  througli  with  that  lyrical  note  which  gave  his 
voice  such  rare  sweetness. 

From  Rossetti  my  new-found  friend  jumped  to 
Whistler  —  to  whom  he  referred  as  "  Jimmy  " — 
thence  to  Watts,  and  from  Watts  to  Ruskin ;  from 
Ruskin  he  ran  on  to  Burne-Jones,  and  then  harked 
back  to  Rossetti  again. 

Rossetti  now  seemed  to  become  an  obsession 
with  him;  only  it  was  Rossetti  the  poet  instead  of 
Rossetti  the  painter  to  whom  he  referred.  In  a 
few  moments  the  stillness  of  that  sordid  coach  was 
echoing  to  the  sonnet  of  "  Lost  Days  " : 

"  The  lost  days  of  my  life  until  to-day, 
What  were  they,  could  I  see  them  on  the  street 
Lie  as  they  fell?    Would  they  be  ears  of  wheat 
Sown  once  for  food  but  trodden  into  clay? 
Or  golden  coins  squander'd  and  still  to  pay? 
Or  drops  of  blood  dabbling  the  guilty  feet? 
Or  such  spiird  water  as  in  dreams  must  cheat 
The  undying  throats  of  Hell,  athirst  alway? 
I  do  not  see  them  here;  but  after  death 
God  knows  I  know  the  faces  I  shall  see  — 
Each  one  a  murder'd  self,  with  low  last  breath; 
'I  am  thyself  —  what  hast  thou  done  to  me?' 
'And  I  —  and  I  —  thyself   (lo!  each  one  saith)  — 
'  And  thou  thyself  to  all  eternity.' " 

His  voice  trembled  as  he  finished,  and  a  long 
silence  followed. 

94 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

"  Pretty  good  stuff,  that,  eh  ? "  he  said,  at 
length. 

"  Fme !  "  said  I,  suddenly  afflicted  with  a  pov- 
erty of  language  quite  comparable  to  his  own  in 
the  way  of  worldly  goods. 

"  Takes  you  here,  however,"  said  he,  tapping 
his  forehead.  "  Makes  you  think  —  and  somehow 
or  other  I  —  I  don't  like  to  think.  I  'd  rather 
feel  —  and  when  it  comes  to  that  it 's  Christina 
Rossetti  that  takes  you  here."  He  tapped  his  left 
breast  over  his  heart.  "  She  's  got  all  the  rest  of 
'em  skinned  a  mile,  as  far  as  I  'm  concerned.  I 
love  that  *  Up  Hill '  thing  of  hers  —  remember 
it?  — 

"Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

"  But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place  ? 

A  roof  for  where  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face? 

You  cannot  miss  that  Inn. 

"  Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight? 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  the  door. 

95 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"Shall   I   find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak? 

Of  labor  you  shall  find  the  sum. 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 

"  Ah,  me ! "  he  said.  "  I  've  got  a  deal  of 
heartening  out  of  that,  and  then  some  day  when 
things  don't  seem  to  go  just  right,  I  sing  for  my 
comfort  that  song  of  hers: 

"  When  I  am  dead,  my  dearest. 

Sing  no  sad  songs  for  me; 
Plant  thou  no  roses  at  my  head, 

Nor  shady  cypress   tree: 
Be  the  green  grass  above  me. 

With  showers  and  dew-drops  wet, 
And  if  thou  wilt,  remember. 

And  if  thou  wilt,  forget. 

*'I  shall  not  see  the  shadows. 

I  shall  not  feel  the  rain. 
I  shall  not  hear  the  nightingale 

Sing  on,  as  if  in  pain: 
And  dreaming  through  the  twilight 

That  doth  not  rise  nor  set. 
Haply  I  may  remember. 

And  haply  may  forget." 

The  train  had  long  since  started  on  toward  our 
destination,  the  old  fellow  discoursing  gloriously 
as  we  ran  along,  I  utterly  unconscious  of  every- 
tliing  save  the  marvelous  contrasts  of  that  picture 
—  a   seemingly   wretched   vagabond,   held    in    the 

96 


A  Vagrant  Poet 

grip  of  a  relentless  poverty,  pouring  forth  out  of 
the  depths  of  a  rich  mind  as  rare  a  spiritual  dis- 
quisition as  I  ever  remember  to  have  enjoyed. 
Our  destination  finally  reached,  I  held  out  my 
hand  to  bid  him  good-by. 

"  I  can't  thank  you  sufficiently,"  I  said,  "  for  a 
wonderful  hour.  I  want  you  to  do  something  for 
me.  You  see  you  have  the  advantage  of  me. 
You  know  who  I  am;  but  I  don't  know  who  you 
are.  Won't  you  tell  me  your  name,  that  I  may 
add  it  to  the  list  of  my  friends  ?  " 

The  old  fellow's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  laid 
his  hand  gently  on  my  shoulder.  "  My  young 
friend,"  he  said,  his  voice  growing  hoarse  and, 
husky  again,  "  who  I  am  is  one  of  the  least  im- 
portant things  on  the  face  of  God's  beautiful 
green  earth.  What  is  really  important  is  the  kind 
of  man  I  am.  /  am  one  of  those  unfortunates  zcho 
started  in  life  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  and  moved 
in  the  only  direction  he  thought  was  left  open  to 
him.'* 

He  seized  my  hand,  gave  it  a  soft,  seemingly  af- 
fectionate pressure,  and  walked  away,  leaving  me 
standing  alone,  and  I  have  not  seen  nor  heard 
from  him  since. 

97 


VI 

BACK-HANDED  COMPLIMENTS 

IN  a  previous  chapter  of  these  rambling  rem- 
iniscences I  have  said  that  I  defied  any  really 
human  man  to  return  from  a  lecture  season  in  this 
country  in  a  pessimistic  frame  of  mind.  To  this 
defiance  I  would  add  another.  I  defy  any  man  pos- 
sessed of  a  hide  anywhere  short  of  that  of  a  rhinoce- 
ros, or  a  head  of  a  thickness  less  than  solid  ivory,  to 
return  from  a  tour  of  our  country  with  any  greater 
sense  of  his  own  importance  than  he  is  entitled  to. 
There  are  a  good  many  plain  truths  spoken  in 
the  presence  of  the  lecturer  by  the  good  people  to 
whom  he  is  consigned,  especially  in  our  delight- 
fully frank  West,  where  they  seem  to  have  ac- 
quired the  knack  of  drawing  a  clean-cut  distinc- 
tion between  the  lecturer  as  a  man  and  the  lecturer 
as  a  lecturer.  Discourtesy  is  never  encountered 
anywhere.  At  least  in  the  ten  years  of  my  plat- 
form experience,  with  nearly   a   thousand  public 

98 


Back-Handed  Compliments 

appearances  to  my  credit,  I  have  met  with  it  only 
twice,  and  on  both  occasions  in  Eastern  communi- 
ties ;  a  proportion  so  negligible  as  to  amount  really 
to  nothing.  Hospitality  to  the  man  has  always 
been  cordial;  the  attitude  toward  the  lecturer  re- 
spectful. But  in  the  showing  of  this  respect  there 
is  no  slopping  over,  though  now  and  then  there  is 
an  atmosphere  of  reserve  in  its  manifestation  which 
serves  the  lecturer  better  in  the  line  of  criticism, 
if  he  is  capable  of  sensing  its  significance,  than 
any  amount  of  outspoken  condemnation. 

There  is  one  element  in  the  work  of  the  Man  on 
the  Platform  that  is  in  itself  of  the  highest  disci- 
plinary value,  and  that  is  that  in  all  circumstances 
he  must  deliver  his  goods  himself.  There  is  noth- 
ing vicarious  about  the  operation.  No  substitute 
can  relieve  him  of  that  necessity.  The  man  who 
writes  books,  or  makes  shoes  or  motor-cars,  can 
sit  apart  and  let  others  face  whatsoever  blame 
may  be  visited  upon  a  middle  man  for  defects  of 
workmanship ;  but  for  the  lecturer  there  is  no  such 
happy  shifting  of  responsibility.  If  people  find 
his  discourse  dull,  they  either  get  up  and  walk 
out,  or,  as  the  saying  is,  they  "  go  to  sleep  in  his 
face." 

99 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


Occasionally,  however,  an  ostentatiously  em- 
phatic expression  of  disapproval  gives  the  man  on 
the  platform  a  chance  to  redeem  himself.  It  is 
told  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  that  on  one  occasion 
something  he  had  said  proved  so  offensive  to  one 


'The  lecturer 
must  deliver 
the  goods  I" 


of  his  auditors,  who  happened  to  be  sitting  in  the 
front  row  of  a  large  and  reverberant  auditorium, 
that  the  individual  rose  bruskly  and  walked  out. 
As  a  sort  of  underscoring  of  his  disapproval  the 
protesting  soul  was  aided  by  a  pair  of  new  shoes 
that  squeaked  so  audibly  as  he  strode  down  the 
aisle  that  they  distracted  the  attention  of  every- 
100 


Bach-Handed  Compliments 

body.  Mr.  Beecher  immediately  stopped  short, 
and  waited  until  the  dissatisfied  person  had  faded 
through  the  doorway  and  the  last  echo  of  his  suf- 
fering boots  had  died  away,  and  then,  with  a  be- 
nignant smile,  recited  that  good  old  nursery  rime 
so  dear  to  the  hearts  of  our  childhood : 

Rings  on  his  fingers. 

And  bells  on  his  toes; 
He  shall  have  music 

Wherever  he   goes. 

It  was  a  bit  of  ready  repartee  that  captivated 
the  audience,  and  if  there  were  present  any  others 
who  later  found  themselves  in  a  protesting  mood  it 
is  pretty  certain  that  they  waited  for  a  safer  oc- 
casion upon  which  to  manifest  it.  Mr.  Beecher 
on  his  feet  was  never  a  man  to  be  trifled  with. 

On  a  stumping  campaign  myself  a  number  of 
years  ago  I  was  confronted  by  a  somewhat  similar 
condition.  An  allusion  to  a  statesman  whom  I 
greatly  admired  elicited  a  decided  hiss  from  a 
group  of  hostiles  seated  under  the  gallery  of  a 
rural  opera  house.  I  silenced  the  hiss  by  pausing 
in  my  remarks  and  appealing  to  the  janitor  to 
"  turn  off  that  steam  radiator,"  since  the  hall  was 
evidently  already  too  hot  for  the  comfort  of  some 
101 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

of  tlic  audience.  It  was  not  particularly  deft, 
but  it  served  the  purpose,  and  we  heard  no  more 
from  that  particular  quarter  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening. 

It  is  a  safer  rule,  however,  for  the  speaker  to 
try  to  conciliate  the  hostile  element,  and  it  has 
been  a  rule  of  mine  for  the  last  five  years  to  en- 
deavor to  locate  such  centers  of  frigidity  as  may 
be  found  before  me,  and  then  direct  all  my  energies 
toward  "  thawing  them  out."  Popular  as  the  plat- 
form is  in  all  parts  of  the  country  to-day,  there 
is  always  present  in  every  community  a  small 
leaven  of  at  least  reluctant  men  who  are  dragged 
unwillingly  to  the  lecture  halls  by  their  enthusi- 
astic wives,  when,  if  they  were  only  permitted  to 
have  their  own  way,  they  would  be  resting  tran- 
quilly at  home,  slippers  on  feet,  feet  on  fender, 
book  or  favorite  newspaper  in  hand,  and  a  sweet- 
scented  briarwood  pipe  for  company.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  locate  these  sufferers.  They  are  such 
conscious  martyrs  that  they  immediately  betray 
themselves,  and  as  a  rule  while  my  chairmen  are 
introducing  me  to  my  audiences  I  scan  the  rows 
of  faces  before  me  in  search  of  them. 

They  have  certain  unmistakable  earmarks  that 
102 


Bach-Handed  Compliments 

betray  them  to  the  sympathetic  eye  —  which,  with 
all  due  modesty,  I  may  claim  mine  to  be ;  for,  while 
I  love  lecturing,  being  lectured  to  or  at,  as  the  case 
may  be,  bores  me  to  extinction.  I  am  like  those 
doctors  who  rejoice  in  the  opportunity  to  ampu- 
tate another  man's  leg,  but  would  not  give  seven 
cents  to  cut  off  one  or  both  of  their  own. 

The  first  of  these  earmarks  is  the  expression  of 
the  face,  which  is  either  one  of  hopeless  resigna- 
tion, or  full  of  lowering,  one  might  almost  say 
vengeful,  contempt,  as  if  the  owner  of  the  face 
were  calling  down  inwardly  all  the  wrath  of 
Heaven  upon  the  lecturer  in  particular,  and  the 
whole  lyceum  movement  in  general.  With  both 
these  expressions  go  arms  tightly  folded  across 
the  breast,  as  though  the  sufferer  were  really  try- 
ing hard  to  hold  himself  in. 


"They  may  'go  to  sleep  in  his  face,'  " 

103 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

The  second  almost  certain  manifestation  is  in 
the  physical  relation  of  the  sufferer  to  the  chair 
in  which  he  sits.  He  makes  it  bear  the  heavy  ma- 
terial burden  of  his  despair  by  sitting  not  as  Na- 
ture intended  that  he  should  sit,  but  as  nearly 
upon  the  small  of  his  back  as  the  available  space 
at  his  disposal  will  permit.  If  he  occupy  an  aisle 
seat,  he  sits  wholly  on  the  small  of  his  back,  with 
his  legs  crossed,  and  Ids  hands  tightly  clasped 
across  his  freer  knee. 

Once  located,  this  man  is  the  special  person  that 
I  go  after.  It  becomes  my  persistent  effort,  and 
in  so  far  as  I  can  master  the  situation  my  determi- 
nation, to  win  his  reluctant  heart.  If  I  can  only 
get  him  sitting  up  like  a  vertebrate  animal,  using 
his  spine  like  a  prop  instead  of  like  a  hammock, 
and  returning  my  gaze  with  a  gleam  of  interest, 
I  am  happy.  If  I  can  get  him  not  only  to  sit  up 
but  to  lean  forward  with  his  head  cocked  to  one 
side,  much  as  a  horse  will  cock  its  ears  when  some- 
thing unexpected  comes  within  the  range  of  its 
vision,  I  feel  that  I  have  scored  a  triumph.  I 
should  say  that  at  a  rough  guess  in  eight  cases  out 
of  ten  the  effort  is  successful,  although  there  have 
been  ninth  and  tenth  cases  that  have  chilled  me  to 
104 


Back-Handed  Compliments 

the  marrow,  and  sent  me  home  with  an  uncomfort- 
able sense  of  failure. 

My  lamented  friend,  the  late  R.  K.  Munkit- 
trick,  an  American  humorist  who  never  really  re- 
ceived the  full  measure  of  appreciation  to  which 
his  delicious  humor  entitled  him,  once  when  we 
were  "  reading "  together  one  night  at  Albany, 
scoring  a  fiasco  so  complete  that  we  could  only 
laugh  over  it,  put  the  situation  before  me  in  terms 
so  wholly  comprehensive  that  I  have  never  forgot- 
ten it. 

"  See  that  red-headed  chap  in  the  fourth 
row? "  he  whispered,  as  the  chairman  was  in- 
dulging in  some  extended  remarks  concerning 
our  greatness  to  which  we  could  never  hope  to  live 
up. 

"  You  mean  the  pall  bearer  with  the  green  neck- 
tie? "  I  asked, 

"  Yes,"  said  Munkittrick,  "  he  's  the  one." 

"Well  — what  of  him?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  grinned  Munkittrick,  "  but  I  '11 
bet  you  seven  dollars  and  forty-seven  cents  he  's 
bet  the  boxoffice  fifty  cents  we  can't  make  him 
laugh." 

I  may  record  with  due  humility  that  if  good  old 
105 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Munkittrick's  surmise  was  correct  our  highly 
chromatic  but  otherwise  funereal  friend  won  his 
bet.  I  doubt  we  could  have  moved  him  with  dyna- 
mite. 

But  these  gentlemen  serve  a  highly  useful  pur- 
pose. They  keep  us  with  our  feet  on  the  earth, 
and  prevent  us  from  soaring  too  high  in  our  own 
estimation. 

Another  effective  factor  in  this  disciplinary  ele- 
ment in  platform  work  is  the  "  back-handed " 
compliment  that  leaves  the  party  of  the  second 
part  suspended  like  Mahomet's  coffin,  midway  be- 
tween heaven  and  earth,  and  in  some  uncertainty 
as  to  exactly  where  "  he  is  going  to  get  off."  I 
have  rejoiced  in  several  such.  The  great  State  of 
Pennsylvania,  which  has  "  officially "  done  so 
much  for  the  platform  by  its  liberal  appropria- 
tions for  teachers'  institutes,  enabling  the  school 
centers  to  secure  the  services  of  speakers  of  high 
cost  who  would  otherwise  be  beyond  their  reach, 
is  responsible  for  one  of  these. 

It  occurred  some  three  years  ago,  and  grew  out 

of  an  unexpected  summons  by  wire  from  one  of 

the  largest  cities  of  the  Quaker  State  asking  me 

to  *'  fill  in  "  for  Dr.  Griggs,  who  because  of  sudden 

106 


Back-Handed  Compliments 

indisposition  was  unable  to  meet  his  engagement 
in  a  large  and  important  course  there.  It  was 
an  emergency  call,  which  fortunately  found  me  dis- 
engaged, and  willing  to  serve. 

The  chairman  of  the  occasion  was  a  delightful 
individual,  with  a  considerable  fund  of  dry  humor, 
and  his  introduction  was  a  gem  of  subtle  wit.  It 
occupied  about  fifteen  minutes,  the  first  five  of 
which  were  devoted  to  matters  pertaining  to  the 
course ;  the  second  five  to  a  well  deserved  eulogy  of 
Dr.  Griggs  for  his  inspiring  lectures  and  the  up- 
lifting nature  of  his  work,  coupled  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  intense  disappointment  which  he, 
the  chairman,  knew  the  audience  must  feel  on 
learning  that  the  good  doctor  could  not  be  pres- 
ent. I  thought  he  rather  rubbed  the  "  disap- 
pointment "  idea  in  a  little  too  vigorously ;  but  I 
tried  not  to  show  it,  and  sat  through  that  part 
of  the  chairman's  remarks  with  the  usual  stereo- 
typed smile  of  satisfaction  at  hearing  a  colleague 
so  highly  spoken  of.  This  done,  the  chairman 
launched  himself  upon  a  four-minute  discourse 
upon  wlmt  he  called  "  The  Age  of  Substitu- 
tion." 

"  You  know,  my  friends,"  said  he,  "  that  this 
107 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

great  age  in  which  we  live  is  so  rich  in  resources 
that  at  times  when  we  cannot  immediately  lay  our 
hands  on  some  particular  article  we  "happen  to 
want  there  is  always  to  be  found  somewhere  a 
just  as  good  as  article  to  take  its  place.  If  you 
desire  a  particular  kind  of  porous  plaster  to  soothe 
an  all-too-self-conscious  spine,  and  the  druggist 
you  call  upon  for  aid  does  not  chance  to  have  it 
in  stock,  he  invariably  has  another  at  hand  which 
he  assures  you  will  do  quite  as  well.  So  it  is  with 
the  nerve  foods,  breakfast  foods,  corn  plasters, 
face  powders,  facial  soaps,  suspenders,  corsets, 
liver  pills,  and  lecturers.  If  we  have  n't  what  you 
want,  we  have  something  just  as  good  in  this  Age 
of  Substitution.  So  is  it  with  us  to-night.  While 
we  may  not  receive  the  all-wool-and-a-yard-wide 
spiritual  uplift  that  Dr.  Griggs  would  have  given 
us,  we  are  privileged  to  listen  to  the  near-silk  hu- 
mor of  a  substitute,  who,  the  committee  in  charge 
venture  to  hope,  will  prove  to  be  just  as  good  as 
the  other.  We  of  course  don't  know  that  it  will 
be;  but  we  live  in  hope  as  well  as  on  it,  and,  lack- 
ing the  great  satisfaction  that  I  had  expected  to 
be  mine  in  presenting  Dr.  Griggs  to  you  this  even- 
ing, it  still  gives  me  a  certain  melancholy  pleasure 
108 


Bach-Handed  Compliments 

to  introduce  to  this  audience  that  highly  mercer- 
ized near-speaker,  Mr.  Just-as-Good-as  K.  Bangs, 
on  whose  behalf  I  bespeak  your  charity  and  your 
tolerance." 

As  a  rule  I  like  to  play  a  little  with  my  chair- 
men ;  but  I  deemed  it  unwise  on  this  occasion  to 
"  monkey  with  a  buzz  saw,"  and  plunged  directly 
into  the  work  in  hand  without  venturing  upon 
the  usual  facetious  preliminaries.  I  felt  that  I 
had  enough  work  cut  out  for  me  already,  and  for 
an  hour  and  a  half  exerted  myself  strenuously  to 
be  just  as  good  as  I  could  be,  neither  more  nor 
less.  Then,  when  it  was  all  over,  and  my  case  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  jury,  a  charming  woman,  with 
a  delectable  smile  on  her  face,  came  rushing  up 
to  the  platform.  She  seized  my  hand  and  shook 
it  vigorously  as  she  spoke. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bangs,"  she  said  with  an  enthusiasm 
so  delightful  that  I  listened  eagerly  for  the 
honeyed  words  to  come,  "  we  are  so  glad  you  came ! 
Ymu  have  made  our  disappointment  complete!  " 

Another  incident  I  prefer  not  to  locate  other 

than  by   saying  that  it  was  in   the  West  —  and 

where  the  West  begins  no  man  may  say.     I  know 

a  New  York  lady  to  whom  it  begins  at  the  Cort- 

109 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

landt  street  opening  of  Mr.  McAdoo's  Hudson 
River  tubes,  who  has  no  notion  at  all  that  any- 
thing lies  beyond  save  the  names  of  a  few  cities 
that  mean  nothing  to  her,  and  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. With  others  it  begins  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi.  Once  in  the  heart  of  Iowa,  when  I 
was  speaking  to  a  young  college  student  there  on 
the  glorious  opportunities  of  the  West,  in  the  hope 
of  making  him  see  hoAV  much  I  appreciated  the 
wonderful  country  in  which  he  lived,  the  young 
man  staggered  me  with  the  reply : 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  you  are  right.  My  father 
wants  me  to  go  West  when  I  get  through  with 
my  work  here." 

So  it  would  seem  that  the  old  rime  about  the 

little  insect  — 

Every  flea  has  a  little  flea  to  bite  him, 
And  so  it  goes  ad  infinitem  — 

may  very  well  be  adapted  to  the  uses  of  those 
good  souls  who  now  and  then  try  to  reach  the 
infinity  of  westernness.  But  there  is  another 
poem  more  directly  applicable  to  some  conclusion 
as  to  the  problem,  which  I  like  to  think  of  in 
moments  when  I  am  reflecting  upon  its  cordial 
welcome  to  me: 

110 


Back-Handed  Compliments 

Out  where  the  hand  clasp 's  a  little  stronger. 
Out  where  a  smile  dwells  a  little  longer  — 

That's  where  the  West  begins. 
Out  where   the   sun   is   a  little   brighter, 
Where  the  snows  that  fall  are  a  trifle  whiter. 
Where  the  bonds  of  home  are  a  wee  bit  tighter  — 

That 's  where  the  West  begins. 

Out  where  the  world  is  in  the  making, 
Where  fewer  hearts  with  despair  are  aching  — 

That 's  where   the  West   begins. 
Where  thei-e 's  more  of  singing  and  less  of  sighing; 
Where  there  's  more  of  giving  and  less  of  buying, 
And  a  man  makes  friends  without  half  trying  — 

That 's  where  the  West  begins. 

The  author  of  those  lines,  who  was,  I  believe, 
Arthur  Chapman  of  Denver,  seems  to  me  to  have 
come  closer  to  a  solution  of  the  problem  than  any 
other.  For  our  own  purposes  just  now,  however, 
let  us  sav  that  the  incident  to  which  I  wish  to 
refer  took  place  in  that  part  of  the  West  which 
lies  between   Sandy  Hook  and  the  Golden  Gate. 

My  audience  in  this  particular  spot  was  de- 
lightfully responsive ;  so  much  so  that  I  was  all 
of  two  hours  in  the  delivery  of  a  lecture  that 
ordinarily  takes  me  an  hour  and  a  quarter  to  de- 
liver. It  was  as  exhilarating  as  a  cross-country 
run,  with  turf  and  skies  just  right.  But  for  the 
pauses  made  necessary  by  the  interruptions  in  ap- 
111 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

preciation  I  should  have  galloped  across  the  finish 
line  in  less  than  an  hour.  So  stimulating  in  fact 
was  the  readiness  of  the  good  people  before  me  to 
take  what  I  had  to  say  and  run  away  with  it,  that, 
while  I  was  immortally  tired  when  I  went  out 
upon  the  platform,  when  I  finished  I  could  have 
started  in  and  done  it  all  over  again  with 
zest. 

But  even  with  so  pleasing  a  background  of  re- 
sponsiveness, there  was  one  young  man  seated  in 
the  front  row  who  was  a  source  of  particular  pleas- 
ure to  me.  He  was  a  rather  distinguished  look- 
ing youth,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  somewhat  long- 
ish  blond  hair,  and  a  physique  that  suggested  a 
modern  Viking.  There  was  something  in  his  face 
that  suggested  the  scholarly  habit  —  occasionally 
his  expression  was  wistfully  questioning.  His 
eyes  never  left  my  face  while  I  was  speaking,  and 
his  physical  attitude,  forward-leaning,  and  a  trifle 
tense,  seemed  to  betoken  an  interest  in  wliat  I  had 
to  say  that  was  more  than  gratifying,  and  his 
mouth  was  kept  half  open,  ever  ready  for  action. 
If  there  was  to  be  anything  to  laugh  at,  he  at 
least  was  not  going  to  be  caught  napping,  or  in 
any  way  unprepared,  if  by  keeping  his  mouth 
112 


Back-Handed  Compliments 

open  he  could  remove  all  obstacles  that  would  have 
prevented  tht  easy  flow  of  his  mirth. 

And  his  laugh !  I  wish  I  might  have  a  rubber 
record  of  that  laugh  to  secrete  in  an  automatic 
machine  located  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  my 
lecture  halls,  so  that  in  response  to  the  pressure 
of  an  electric  button  it  could  be  let  loose  at  cer- 
tain psychological  moments.  It  was  as  infectious 
a  laugh  as  I  ever  listened  to,  and  there  were  times 
when  its  contagion  brought  me  perilously  close  to 
seeming  to  laugh  at  my  own  jokes  —  which  is  a 
dangerous  thing  for  a  lecturer  to  do,  and  con- 
trary to  the  technic  of  the  "  business,"  which  re- 
quires humorous  periods  to  be  delivered  with  a 
face  solemn  to  the  point  of  the  funereal.  It  had 
really  musical  modulations,  rising  from  pianissimo 
to  fortissimo  on  the  wings  of  nicely  graded  cre- 
scendos,  and  returning  whence  it  had  come  with  a 
sort  of  rippling  gurgle  that  was  mighty  fetch- 
ing. 

Finally  not  only  was  nothing  I  had  in  mind  lost 
upon  him,  but  he  actually  appeared  to  discover 
subtleties  of  wit  in  my  discourse  of  whose  pres- 
ence I  had  not  myself  had  the  slightest  suspicion. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  he  was  pleasing 
113 


From  Fillar  to  Post 

unto  my  soul,  and  naturally  enough  I  spoke  of 
him  afterward  to  my  chairman. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  the  chairman  as  we 
walked  back  to  the  hotel  together  after  the  lecture 
was  over,  "  what  did  you  think  of  your  audience 
to-night?  Some  responsiveness  there,  all  right, 
eh?  " 

I  was  impulsively  enthusiastic  enough  to  say 
that  I  thought  it  was  a  "  corking  good  audience." 
"  If  they  were  all  like  that,"  said  I,  "  this  work 
would  be  as  easy  as  cutting  calves-foot  jelly  with 
an  ax." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  them,"  said  he.  "  Our 
people  here  are  appreciative,  and  they  believe  the 
laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire  in  showing  it." 

"  I  '11  put  Blanksville  down  in  my  red-letter 
book,"  said  I.  "  But  tell  me  who  and  what  is  that 
rather  distinguished  looking  young  man  with  the 
longish  blond  hair  and  snappy  eyes,  who  sat  in  the 
aisle  seat  of  the  front  row  next  to  the  white-haired 
old  lady  with  an  audiphone?  He  had  a  wistful 
sort  of  face,  and  — " 

"  Oh,  I  know  who  you  mean,"  said  the  chair- 
man.    "  He  's  So-and-So.     What  about  him  —  he 
did  n't  bother  you,  I  hope  ?  " 
114s 


Back-Handed  Compliments 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "  I  loved  him.  He 
was  about  the  most  appreciative  chap  I  ever  talked 
to.  He  fairly  hung  on  every  word  I  spoke,  and 
when  it  came  to  a  funny  point  I  'm  blest  if  he 
did  n't  meet  me  more  than  halfway !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  chairman,  "  he  would.  He  's 
half-witted." 

My  swelling  head  immediately  resumed  its  nor- 
mal proportions,  and  when  I  left  Blanksville  the 
following  morning  the  only  discomfort  I  found  in 
wearing  my  regular  hat  was  that  in  some  way  or 
other  it  seemed  to  have  grown  a  little  too  large 
for  me,  and  showed  a  tendency  to  settle  down  over 
my  ears.  I  have  nevertheless  comforted  myself 
with  the  thought  that  sometimes  the  difference  be- 
tween half-wittedness  and  genius  is  so  slight  to 
the  eye  of  the  familiar  beholder  that  wise  men 
are  not  infrequently  believed  by  their  neighbors  to 
be  fools.  My  young  friend  after  all  may  have  been 
a  poet,  and,  like  some  prophets,  "  without  honor 
in  his  own  country." 


115 


VII 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  ROAD 

IN  the  days  of  my  cynicism  I  used  to  laugh  in 
my  sleeve,  and  occasionally  in  print,  at  the 
ways  of  the  politicians  and  statesmen  en  route, 
who  have  their  pictures  taken  hobnobbing  with 
locomotive  engineers,  trainmen,  and  Pullman  por- 
ters. Since  I  have  myself  become  a  professional 
wanderer  and  have  come  into  closer,  somewhat  en- 
forced, fellowship  with  these  individuals  I  laugh 
at  the  politicians  and  statesmen  no  more.  On  the 
contrary  I  commend  them,  and  I  think  with  ap- 
preciation and  gratitude  of  a  poem  by  George 
Sterling,  one  of  our  real  voices  to-day  calling 
down  blessings  on  the  heads  of  these  "  workers 
of  the  night"  to  whose  watchful  care  we  who 
travel  intrust  our  lives. 

One   who    makes    only    occasional   journeys    by 
rail  is   not  likely  to   think  very  much  about  the 
man  at  the  throttle ;  but  when  one  has  practically 
116 


Friends  of  the  Road 

lived  on  the  rail  for  two  or  three  months  run- 
ning, not  only  the  man  at  the  throttle,  but  the 
man  at  the  switch,  the  flagman,  the  fireman,  the 
conductor,  and  the  Pullman  porter  as  well,  come 
to  be  in  a  very  real  sense  members  of  his  fam- 

iiy. 

Mr.  Carnegie's  hero  medals  are  often  bestowed, 
and  worthily,  upon  men  who  on  sudden  impulse 
have  performed  some  deed  of  heroism  and  self-sac- 
rifice for  the  benefit  of  others;  but  I  have  yet  to 
hear  of  one  of  these  desirable  possessions  being  be- 
stowed upon  the  flagman  who,  in  the  face  of  a  rag- 
ing blizzard,  at  midnight,  the  thermometer  at  zero, 
leaves  the  comparative  comfort  of  the  rear  car, 
and  walks,  whistling  for  company,  back  some  four 
or  five  hundred  yards  along  the  icy  track,  and 
stands  there  with  his  red  lantern  in  hand  to  warn 
a  possibly  advancing  train  behind  of  danger 
ahead. 

When  the  ice-incased  wires  are  down,  and  the 
signal  and  switch  towers  are  out  of  commission 
because  of  the  rampageous  elements,  how  many  of 
us  who  lie  comfortably  asleep  in  the  warm  berths 
of  our  stalled  trains  give  so  much  as  a  thought  to 
the  man  outside  in  the  freezing  cold  of  the  night, 
117 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

keeping  tlic  switches  clear  that  we  may  proceed, 
or  to  the  flagman  at  the  rear,  shelterless  before 
the  storm,  who  stands  between  us  and  disaster? 
Most  of  us,  I  fancy,  do  not  think  of  them  at  all, 
and  I  fear  that  many  of  us  so  occupy  ourselves 
with  self-sympathy  on  these  occasions  that  we  find 
no  words  of  commendation  in  our  hearts  for  any- 
body connected  with  the  whole  railway  system ; 
but  rather  words  of  condemnation  for  that  system 
and  everybody  connected  with  it,  from  the  inno- 
cent stockholder  looking  for  dividends,  all  the  way 
down  to  those  poor  devils  who  have  forgotten  un- 
der the  stress  of  demoralizing  conditions  to  fill 
the  water  tanks  tliat  we  may  drink  and  get 
our  fair  share  of  the  nation's  supply  of  typhoid 
germs. 

For  myself,  I  can  truthfully  say  that  the  re- 
mark of  a  railway  offic^il  made  to  me  many  years 
ago  in  response  to  one  of  my  complaints  has  of 
late  years  gathered  considerable  force  and  signifi- 
cance. This  gentleman  was  a  neighbor  of  mine, 
and  one  Christmas  he  presented  me  with  an  annual 
pass  on  the  Hudson  River  Railraod.  It  was  a 
delightful  gift,  and  I  used  it  with  enthusiasm. 
One  morning,  however,  as  he  and  I  sat  together  on 
118 


Friends  of  the  Road 

a  local  train  that  had  in  some  mysterious  way 
managed  to  lose  four  hours  on  a  thirty-minute 
run,  I  turned  to  him  and  said: 

"  Charlie,  sometimes  I  wish  I  had  never  accepted 
that  confounded  old  pass  of  yours.  I  've  bar- 
tered my  freedom  of  speech  for  a  beggarly  account 
of  empty  minutes.  If  it  was  n't  for  that  blankety- 
blank  pass,  I  could  tell  you  what  I  think  of  your 
blinkety-blink  old  road.  Here  we  are  four  hours 
late  on  a  thirty-minute  run  !  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy,"  he  replied  with  an  am- 
iable smile,  "  you  are  dingety-dinged  lucky  to  get 
in  at  all !  " 

Individually  I  have  experienced  so  much  kindli- 
ness and  courtesy  at  the  hands  of  the  personnel  of 
our  railroads  in  all  parts  of  the  United  States 
that  I  sometimes  get  real  satisfaction  out  of  shar- 
ing with  them  the  discomforts  of  travel.  I  have 
discovered  without  half  trying  that  there  are  pro- 
found depths  of  friendliness  in  them  which  need  to 
be  given  only  half  a  chance  to  manifest  them- 
selves. Rarely  indeed  have  I  met  with  discour- 
tesy at  their  hands,  and  many  a  weary  hour  has 
been  cheered  by  their  native  wit.  For  the  most 
part,  naturally,  my  contact  has  been  with  the 
119 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

station  agent  and  the  conductor  —  and  the  Pull- 
man porter. 

While  I  deplore  the  abuses  of  tipping  in  this 
and  other  countries,  I  have  rarely  grudged  the 
Pullman  porter  his  well  earned  extra  quarter. 
Perhaps  the  general  run  of  us  have  not  had  the 
time,  nor  the  inclination,  to  acquaint  ourselves 
with  the  difficulties  of  the  Pullman  porter's  job. 
We  don't  realize  that  with  a  car  full  of  people 
ten  passengers  will  want  the  car  cooled  off,  ten 
others  will  want  a  little  more  heat,  five  will  com- 
plain that  there  is  too  much  air,  five  others  will 
complain  that  there  is  too  little;  and  poor  Ras- 
tus,  ground  between  the  two  millstones  of  com- 
plaint, has  to  make  a  show  of  pleasing  every- 
body. He  above  all  others  would  be  justified  in 
announcing  as  his  favorite  poem  those  fine  old 
lines : 

As  a  rule  a  man's  a  fool: 
When  it 's  hot  he  wants  it  cool ; 
When  it's  cool  he  wants  it  hot  — 
Always  wanting  what  is  not. 

I  recall  one  fine  old  darky  once  on  a  train  run- 
ning into  Cleveland,  who  was  very  unhappy  over 
a  complaint  of  mine  that,  with  a  car  crowded  to 
120 


Friends  of  tJie  Road 

the  limit  with  women  and  children,  some  cigarette 
fiend  had  vitiated  what  little  air  there  was  in  the 
car  by  smoking  in  his  berth.  I  was  awakened 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  by  the  oppressive 
odor  of  burning  paper  and  near-perique.  There 
is  no  mistaking  the  origin  of  that  aromatic  nui- 
sance, and  my  gorge  rose  at  the  boorish  lack  of 
consideration  that  the  smoker  showed  for  the  com- 
fort and  convenience  of  his  fellow  travelers.  I 
pressed  the  button  alongside  my  berth,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  the  porter  was  peering  in  at  me  through 
the  curtains. 

"  Look  here,  John,"  said  I  in  a  stage  whisper, 
"  this  is  a  little  too  much !  Somebody  in  this  car 
is  smoking  cigarettes,  and  I  think  it 's  a  condemned 
outrage.  With  all  these  ladies  on  board  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  ought  to  insist  that  the  man  who 
can't  restrain  his  passion  for  cigarettes  should 
get  off  at  the  next  stop  and  take  the  first  cattle 
car  he  finds  running  to  where  he  thinks  he  is  go- 
ing." 

"  Yas,  suh,"  returned  the  porter  sadly.  "  It 's 
too  bad,  suh,  an'  I  've  tried  my  bes'  to  stop  'em 
twice,  suh." 

"  Well,  by  George  !  "  said  I,  sitting  up.  "  If 
121 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


they  won't  stop  for  you,  maybe  they  will  for  me. 
If  any  man  aboard  this  car  thinks  he  can  get 
away  with  a  nuisance  like  this  — " 

"  Yas,  suh,"  said  the  porter;  "but  that's  jest 
whar  de  trouble  comes  in,  suh. 
I  been  after  'em,  suh;  but  it 
ain't  no  use.  In  bofe  cases, 
suh,  it  was  de  ladies  deirsefs 
dat  was  a-doin'  all  de  smokin', 
suh." 

And  he  grinned  so  broadly 
as  I  threw  myself  back  on  my 
pillow  that  when  I  finally  got 
to  sleep  again  I  dreamed  of 
the  opening  to  the  Mammoth 
Cave,  through  a  natural  as- 
sociation of  ideas. 

Occasionally  one  finds  some 

trouble    in    keeping    ahead    of 

the    Pullman    porter    in    the 

j^y"''.^^"'' '  matter     of     repartee.     There 

used  to  be  on  the  night  run 

to  Boston  a  venerable  chap,  black  as  the  ace  of 

spades,  but  patriarchal  in  his  dignity,  of  whom  I 

was   very   fond.     He  was   as  wide   awake   at   all 

122 


Friends  of  the  Road 

hours  of  the  day  and  night  as  though  sleep  had 
not  been  invented.  Like  most  of  his  class,  he  was 
inclined  to  bestow  titles  on  his  charges. 

"  Yo'  got  enough  pillows,  Cap'n?  "  he  asked  on 
one  occasion,  after  he  had  fixed  my  berth. 

"Yes,  Major,"  I  replied,  putting  him  up  a  peg 
higher.  "  But  it 's  a  cold  night,  and  I  think  an- 
other blanket  might  come  in  handy." 

"  All  right.  Gunnel,"  said  he,  adding  to  my 
honors.     "  I  '11  git  hit  right  away." 

"  Thank  you.  General,"  said  I,  as  he  returned 
with  the  desired  article. 

"  Glad  to  serve  yo'.  Admiral,"  said  he  with  deep 
gravity. 

"  And  now.  Bishop,"  said  I,  resolved  to  keep 
at  it  until  I  scored  a  victory,  "  suppose  — " 

"  Hoi'  on,  mistuh ! "  he  retorted  instantly. 
"  HoP  on !  Dey  ain't  mo'n  one  puhson  in  de  Uni- 
verse whut  's  higher  'n  a  bishop,  an'  I  knows 
mighty  well  yo'  ain't  Him !  " 

Our  dusky  brothers  not  infrequently  fill  me  with 
a  sense  of  consolation  in  difficult  moments.  Two 
such  cases  occur  to  me  at  this  writing;  one  in  my 
own  experience,  and  the  other  in  a  story  I  heard 
in  the  South  last  winter,  the  mere  thought  of  which 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

has  many  times  since  served  to  soften  my  woes  in 
troublesome  moments. 

The  first  occurred  several  years  ago,  when  the 
steel  passenger  cars  first  came  into  commission. 
Being  myself  of  a  somewhat  inflammable  nature, 
I  make  it  a  rule  to  travel  on  these  in  preference 
to  the  old-fashioned  tinder  boxes  of  ten  years  ago 
whenever  I  can.  On  this  particular  occasion, 
however,  on  a  hurried  midwinter  night  run,  I 
found  myself  in  a  highly  oraate,  lumbering  Pull- 
man of  the  vintage  of  '68.  It  was  an  essentially 
mid-Victorian  affair,  and  in  the  matter  of  decora- 
tion was  a  flamboyant  specimen  of  the  early  A. 
T.  Stewart  period  of  American  interior  embellish- 
ment. 

Those  whose  memories  hark  back  that  far  will 
remember  that  the  Pullman  Company's  money  at 
that  time  was  largely  expended  on  lavish  ornamen- 
tation of  a  peculiarly  assertive  rococo  style,  con- 
sisting for  the  main  part  of  an  eruption  of  gew- 
gaws which  ran  riot  over  the  exposed  surfaces  of 
the  car  like  a  rash  on  the  back  of  a  baby.  The 
external  slant  of  the  upper  berth  in  these  cars  was 
ever  a  favorite  surface  for  this  particular  kind 
of  gew-gawsity,  and  no  occupant  of  a  lower  berth 
1^4. 


Friends  of  the  Road 

known  to  me  ever  succeeded  in  getting  safely  into 
bed,  or  out  of  it,  without  having  one  or  more  of 
these  lovely  patterns  imprinted  on  the  top  of  his 
head  with  more  force  than  delicacy.  In  collisions 
the  occupant  of  one  of  these  varnish-soaked  orgies 
of  fretwork  had  about  as  much  chance  of  escaping 
unscathed  as  what  a  dear  clerical  friend  of  mine 
in  a  lay  sermon  once  characterized  as  "  a  celluloid 
dog  chasing  an  asbestos  cat  through  the  depths 
of  purgatory."  Whenever  I  find  myself  on  one 
of  these  cars  I  think  instinctively  of  just  three 
things,  and  in  this  order  —  my  past  life,  my  pos- 
sible permanent  future,  and  my  accident  insurance 
policy  —  and  try  to  comfort  myself  by  playing 
both  ends  against  the  middle. 

In  my  haste  on  this  occasion  I  had  not  particu- 
larly noticed  the  characteristics  of  the  car  until 
I  attempted  to  remove  my  shoes  to  retire.  As  I 
sat  up  after  untying  the  laces  I  was  brought  to  a 
painful  realization  of  the  oldtime  nature  of  the 
vehicle  by  having  impressed  most  forcibly  upon 
the  top  of  my  head  the  convolutions  of  an  empire 
wreath,  carved  out  of  pine  splints,  and  embossed 
with  gold  leaf,  which  served  to  give  Napoleonic 
dignity  to  the  upper  berth  when  not  in  use.  The 
125 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

jar,  plus  the  ensuing  association  of  ideas,  brought 
to  my  mind  an  uneasy  realization  of  the  probable 
truth  that  the  car  was  of  antique  pattern,  about 
as  solid  as  any  other  box  of  potential  toothpicks, 
and  as  fireproof  as  a  ball  of  excelsior  soaked  with 
paraffin.  At  the  moment  the  porter  happened  to 
be  passing  with  the  carpet-stepped  ladder  to  assist 
a  two-hundred-and-fifty-pound  traveling  man  into 
the  berth  overhead,  and  I  addressed  him. 

"  See  here,  porter !  "  said  I.  "  What  kind  of 
car  do  you  call  this,  anyhow?  Is  n't  this  the 
car  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet  took  when  they  moved 
back  to  town  from  Ararat?  " 

"  Yas,  suh,"  he  answered.  "  She  suttinly  am 
an  ol'  timah,  suh." 

"  Well,  I  don't  feel  exactly  safe,  George,"  said 
I.     "Aren't  there  any  steel  cars  on  this  train?" 

"  Oh,  we  's  all  safe  enough,  suh,"  said  George, 
with  the  assurance  of  one  who  is  so  well  intrenched 
that  no  foe  on  earth  could  possibly  get  at  him. 
"  De  cyar  behind  an'  de  cyar  in  front,  dey  's  bofe 
steel,  suh." 

I  had  never  expected  to  enjoy  in  this  life  the 
sensations  that  I  suspect  are  those  of  a  mosquito 
when  he  finds  himself  caught  between  the  aveng- 
126 


Friends  of  the  Road 

ing  palms  of  a  horny-fisted  son  of  toil,  who  has 
at  last  got  a  pestiferous  nuisance  where  he  wants 
him ;  but  I  must  confess  that  such  were  my  sen- 
sations that  night;  and  every  time  the  train  came 
to  a  sudden  stop  in  its  plunging  through  the 
dark  I  had  a  not  too  comfortable  sense  that  when 
the  steel  front  of  the  car  behind  finally  came  to 
meet  the  iron  end  of  the  car  ahead,  through  the 
unresisting  mass  of  splinters  and  Empire  wreaths 
between,  I  would  personally,  in  all  likelihood,  more 
closely  resemble  a  cubist  painting  of  a  sunset  on 
the  Barbary  Coast  than  a  human  being.  I  imag- 
ine that  what  really  carried  me  uninjured  through 
the  nervous  ordeal  of  that  night  was  the  amused 
view  I  took  of  good  old  George's  notions  as  to 
what  constituted  absolute  safety. 

The  other  incident,  as  narrated  to  me  by  a  fel- 
low traveler,  has  given  me  much  comfort  in  exas- 
perating moments.  In  sections  of  the  South  and 
West  the  engineers  have  not  as  yet  mastered  the 
art  of  stopping  or  starting  their  trains  gently. 
When  they  stop  they  stop  grindingly,  with  jolts 
and  jars  sudden  and  violent  enough  to  send  a 
snoring  traveler  full  of  stored  up  impetus  head 
first  through  a  stone  wall;  or,  if  it  be  in  the  day- 
127 


From  Pillaj'  to  Post 

time,  with  a  jerk  of  such  a  nature  as  would  snap 
his  head  off  completely  if  the  latter  were  not  so 
firmly  fastened  to  his  neck.  It  is  a  method  that 
may  do  very  well  for  freight,  but  for  passengers 
and  dynamite  it  has  its  disadvantages. 

It  was  on  a  line  renowned  for  its  jarring  methods 
that  the  incident  of  which  my  friend  told  me  is 
alleged  to  have  occurred.  A  train  made  up  of  day 
coaches  and  Pullman  sleepers  broke  through  a 
wooden  trestle  and  landed  in  a  frightful  mass 
of  twisted  wreckage  on  the  bottom  of  a  ravine 
some  eighty  feet  bielow.  The  wrecking  crew 
worked  nobly,  and  after  several  hours  of  heroic 
effort  came  to  a  crushed  and  splintered  sleeper  at 
the  base  of  the  ruin.  There  amid  the  debris,  sleep- 
ing peacefully,  with  a  beam  across  his  chest,  lay 
the  porter,  wholly  unhurt,  and  dreaming.  He 
was  even  snoring.  The  foreman  of  the  wrecking 
crew,  with  suitable  language  expressing  his  amaze- 
ment at  the  miracle,  finally  succeeded  in  getting 
Sambo  half  awake. 

"  Wh-whut  's  de  mattah .''  "  stammered  Sambo, 
sitting  up,  and  gazingly  dazedly  at  the  ruin  on 
every  side. 

"Matter?"      echoed      the      foreman.     "Why, 
128 


Friends  of  the  Road 

Jumping  Jehoshaphat,  man !  Don't  you  know 
that  this  whole  dod-gasted  train  has  fallen  through 
the  trestle  ?  It 's  a  wonder  you  were  n't  killed. 
Did  n't  you  feel  anything?  " 

"  Why,  yas,  boss,"  said  Sambo.  "  I  did  feel 
sumpin'  kind  o'  jolty;  but  I  fought  dey  was  jes' 
a-puttin'  on  de  dinah  at  Jackson." 

So  it  is  that  nowadays  when  these  jolting,  jar- 
ring notes  come  along  to  vex  my  soul  I  no  longer 
lose  my  temper  as  I  used  to  do,  but  think  rather 
of  that  old  darky  and  "  de  dinah  at  Jackson," 
and  wax  mellow,  feeling  that  that  story  alone,  true 
or  not,  is  a  full  justification  of  all  the  sufferings  I 
or  others  have  had  to  endure  at  the  ungentle  hands 
of  the  freight  engineer  at  the  passenger  throttle. 

These  men  on  the  engines  are  great  characters, 
and  whenever  I  can  get  into  touch  with  them  I  do 
so.  In  some  of  my  zigzagging  trips  hither  and  yon 
in  the  Middle  and  Northwest  I  often  find  myself 
back  to-day  on  some  train  or  other  that  has  car- 
ried me  along  on  some  previous  trip,  and  it  is  fre- 
quently much  like  a  family  reunion  when  I  meet  the 
crew  for  a  third  or  fourth  time.  "  Glad  to  see  you 
back,"  is  a  familiar  greeting  from  conductors, 
engineers,  flagmen,  and  porters  alike.  There  is 
129 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


one  diner  on  a  Western  run  that  I  have  visited  so 
frequently  that  I  receive  all  the  kindly  special  at- 
tention one  used  to  look  for  at  an  inn  to  which  he 
was  a  constant  visitor ;  and  I  think  it  all  grew  out 
of  the  fact  that  the  first  time  I  traveled  on  that 
particular  car  I  summoned  the  man  in  charge  to 
complain  of  the  pie. 

"  I  don't  like  to  com- 
plain," said  I ;  "  but  this 
pie  — " 

"What's  the  matter 
with  the  pic?  "  he  asked, 
bristling  a  little. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  it 's 
so  confoundedly  good 
that  even  a  whole  one 
could  n't  satisfy  me !  " 

Ever  since  the  registry 
of  that  complaint  I  have 
really  had  more  than  the 
law  allows  on  that  par- 
ticular car.  Preferential  treatment  that  would 
fill  the  Interstate  Commerce  Commission  with  an- 
guish is  always  mine.  Neither  the  rack  nor  all 
the  fires  of  the  Inquisition  could  extract  from  me 
130 


'These  men  on 
the  engines 
are  great 
characters." 


Friends  of  the  Road 

its  precise  identity,  lest  its  kindly  crew  be  fined 
for  overcourtesy  to  a  specific  individual. 

But  to  return  to  the  engineers :     I  have  always 
cherished  the  memory  of  a  stolid  old  graybeard 
in  command  of  a  special  train  circumstances  once 
compelled  me  to  hire  in  order  to  meet  an  Arizona 
date  for  which  there  was  no  possible  regular  con- 
nection by  rail.     My  special  started  from  Phoenix 
shortly  after  midnight  of  a  stormy  day,  to  carry 
me  down  to  Maricopa,  there  to  connect  with  an 
early   morning  express  into  Tucson.     The  train 
consisted  of  an  engine  and  a  single  day  coach. 
Inasmuch  as  it  was  mine  for  the  time  being,  and  at 
considerable  cost,  I  decided  to  exercise  my  pro- 
prietary rights  and  ride  on  the  engine.     A  heavy 
rain  which  had  been  falling  all  day  had  changed 
the  dry,  sandy  beds  of  the  Salt  and  Gila  rivers 
to  torrential  streams,  to  the  great  disadvantage  of 
the  roadbeds.     We  literally  seemed  to  be  feeling 
our  way   along  in  the   dark,  until   suddenly  the 
clouds  broke  away  and  a  glorious  moon  shed  its 
radiance  over  everything.     Just  at  this  point  the 
engineer   with   a   startled   exclamation    seized   the 
throttle  and  brought  us  to  a  disquietingly  abrupt 
stop.     He  whispered  a  word  or  two  to  the  fireman, 
131 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

who  immediately  descended  from  the  cab  and  ran 
on  ahead  along  the  track  until  he  was  completely 
lost  to  sight. 

"  What 's  the  trouble?  "  said  I  somewhat  appre- 
hensively, as  the  engineer  began  examining  his  ma- 
chinery. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  he.  "  I  've  just  sent  Bill 
ahead  to  see  if  the  bridge  is  still  there." 

"  Bridge?  Still  there?  "  I  queried.  "  There  's 
nothing  wrong  with  the  bridges,  I  hope." 

"  Well  —  I  dunno,"  said  he.  "  Look  over 
there,"  he  added  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  off  to 
the  left  of  us.  I  peered  across  the  stream  in  the 
direction  he  had  indicated,  and  there  in  the  bright 
light  of  the  moon  I  could  see  that  two  huge  iron 
spans  of  the  Santa  Fe  bridge  had  been  completely 
undermined  by  the  fierce  flow  of  the  waters,  and 
now  lay  flat  on  their  sides  in  midstream. 

"  Ooo-hoo !  All  right !  "  came  the  voice  of  the 
fireman  from  the  dark  ahead. 

I  sat  transfixed  and  speechless  as  the  engineer 
started  slowly  ahead  and  moved  at  a  snail's  pace 
along  the  soggy  road.  We  came  to  the  bridge, 
which  was  still  standing,  in  a  few  moments ;  but 
oh  how  it  swayed  as  we  inched  our  way  across !  I 
132 


Friends  of  the  Road 

should  have  felt  safer  if  that  train  and  I  were  ly- 
ing together  in  a  hammock.  We  fairly  lurched 
across  it,  and  I  should  not  have  been  at  all  sur- 
prised if  at  any  moment  the  whole  structure  had 
collapsed  under  our  weight.  Finally  we  got 
across  in  safety,  and  my  heart  condescended  to 
emerge  from  my  boots. 

"  By  George,  Mr.  Engineer ! "  said  I.  "  If 
there  's  any  more  like  that,  I  guess  I  '11  get  oflp  and 
walk  the  rest  of  the  way." 

"  All  right,  mister,"  said  the  engineer  cheer- 
fully. "  If  you  prefer  the  company  of  rattle- 
snakes and  Gila  monsters  to  mine,  go  ahead  — 
and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul ! " 

I  decided  to  remain. 


133 


VIII 
CHAIRMEN  I  HAVE  MET 

SOMETIMES  the  Gentleman  in  the  Chair  is  a 
Lady,  but  more  often  he  is  a  man,  and, 
strange  to  relate,  contrary  to  the  general  impres- 
sion of  the  comparative  methods  of  the  sexes,  the 
ladies  are  vastly  more  direct  in  their  introductions 
than  their  Brothers  in  Suffering.  Women  are 
seldom  oratorically  inclined.  Men  are  invariably 
so  —  or  at  least  chairmen  are.  And  as  a  result 
an  introduction  to  an  audience  by  a  woman  is 
likely  to  become  more  of  an  "  identification  of  the 
remains  "  than  an  illuminating  explanation  of  the 
speaker's  right  to  be  where  he  is ;  while  the  men 
"  pile  it  on  "  to  such  an  extent  that  the  lecturer 
has  often  to  struggle  immortally  to  make  good  the 
chairman's  kindly  declarations  on  his  behalf. 

Personally,  with  all  due   respect  to  the  Lady 
Chairman,  I  prefer  the  masculine  method:  not  be- 
cause I  like  to  hear  myself  exalted  to  the  tipmost 
134 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

point  of  the  blue  vault  above ;  for  I  do  not.  It  is 
hard  work  to  sit  still  before  five  hundred  people 
with  a  smug  expression  of  countenance  and  hear 
oneself  compared  to  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  and 
Shakespeare  and  Moses,  to  the  distinct  disadvan- 
tages of  that  noble  quartet  of  literary  strugglers ; 
and  I  have  never  ceased  to  sympathize  with  An- 
thony Hope,  who  on  a  postprandial  occasion  some 
years  ago  when  I  was  sitting  next  to  him,  after 
listening  to  a  few  eulogistic  remarks  by  a  speaker 
in  which  he  was  made  to  appear  the  greatest  Light 
of  Literature  since  the  beginning  of  time,  lifted 
the  tablecloth,  glanced  under  it,  and  in  a  muffled 
tone  murmured,  "  My  God,  Bangs !  Is  n't  there 
any  way  out  of  here?  I  cawn't  live  up  to  all 
this ! " 

Nevertheless,  I  do  prefer  the  men's  method,  be- 
cause it  gives  me  more  time  in  which  to  study  my 
audience,  and,  in  so  far  as  I  may,  adjust  myself 
and  my  discourse  to  the  special  problem  confront- 
ing me.  In  the  one  case  (introductions  by 
women)  it  is  as  if  one  were  suddenly  seized  by  the 
scrufF  of  the  neck  and  thrown  overboard  without 
even  time  to  say  one's  prayers ;  in  the  other  the 
victim  is  slowly  and  pleasantly  carried  upward 
135 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


from  the  level  of  fact  on  the  wings  of  kindly  fancy 
to  a  pinnacle  of  unearned  increment  of  glory,  and 
left  there  to  shift  for  him- 
self: to  soar  higher  if  he 
have  afflatus  enough  to  at- 
tain loftier  heights,  or  to 
slide  back  to  where  he  be- 
longs as  gracefully  as  may 
be. 

I  have  often  thought  as 
I  have  sat  and  listened  to 
these  delightful  flights  of 
eulogy  —  so  like  the  obitu- 
ary notices  we  read  in  the 
newspapers  after  a  great 
man  dies  —  of  the  great  dis- 
advantages of  those  upper 
realms.  It  is  very  lonely 
and  cold  up  there,  and 
while  the  old  saw  is  undoubtedly  correct,  and 
there  is  plenty  of  room  at  the  top,  let  it  be 
recorded  by  one  who  has  more  than  once  been 
summarily  hauled  thither  as  involuntarily  as  unde- 
servedly, that  it  is  elbow  room  only,  with  mighty 
little  solid  earth  on  which  to  rest  one's  feet.  The 
136 


Va>- 


'Pile  it  on  so  thick  that 
the  lecturer  has  to 
struggle  hard   to  make 
good." 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

poet  who  invented  the  expression  "  the  giddy 
heights  "  knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  and  one 
has  but  to  go  out  on  the  lecture  platform  and  try 
to  stand  gracefully  on  those  abstract  peaks  to 
have  it  proved  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 

But  there  is  another  reason  why  I  prefer  the 
chair-man  to  the  chaAV-womcm,  and  it  has  to  do 
solely  with  the  technic  of  lecturing.  No  one  who 
has  ever  lectured  can  deny  the  apprehension  of 
the  first  five  minutes  of  the  effort.  Those  five 
minutes  are  perhaps  the  most  critical  period  of  the 
evening.  If  the  attack  is  not  right,  the  whole  af- 
fair is  likely  to  come  down  with  a  crash ;  for  first 
impressions  count  perhaps  more  than  they  should 
with  the  average  audience.  If  the  attack  is  good, 
and  the  lecturer  can  "  make  himself  solid  "  with 
his  audience  at  the  very  beginning,  structural 
weaknesses  and  an  occasional  dull  or  dragging  mo- 
ment will  be  forgiven  later,  because  those  who  lis- 
ten have  come  to  like  the  speaker  personally,  and 
decline  to  let  him  fail  unless  he  really  insists  upon 
doing  so. 

Now  the  technic  of  this  attack,  I  should  say  if 
I  were  retained  to  write  a  Primer  for  Lecturers, 
involves  the  chairman  most  materially.     He  is  the 
137 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

tangible  hook  on  which  the  alert  lyceumite  almost 
invariably  either  hangs  or  supports  himself  in 
those  first  five  minutes.  Human  nature  is  so  con- 
stituted that  people  like  a  pleasantry  at  the  ex- 
pense of  some  person  or  of  some  thing  with  which 
they  are  personally  familiar.  It  grows  out  of  the 
love  of  the  concrete  —  which  is  a  failure  of  us 
all,  I  fancy  —  and  in  every  community  there  are 
always  at  least  two  concrete  things  that  are 
sure  winners  for  the  lecturer  —  the  chairman  of 
the  evening,  and  the  railway  system  upon  which 
the  inhabitants  of  the  community  depend.  Jests 
broad  or  subtle  at  the  expense  of  either  are  re- 
ceived with  howls  of  joy. 

On  my  first  transcontinental  trip,  made  ten 
years  ago,  I  never  failed  to  receive  an  immediate 
response  from  my  audiences  when  I  referred  to  the 
letters  N.  P.  R.  R.,  the  abbreviated  form  for  the 
Northern  Pacific  Railroad,  as  really  signifying  a 
"  Not  Particularly  Rapid  Route  " ;  and  in  other 
sections  of  the  country  served  by  those  charming 
corporations  the  shortest  cut  I  know  to  the  affec- 
tions of  the  people  is  through  a  bald  or  ribald  jest 
at  the  expense  of  the  Erie  or  the  Baltimore  & 
Ohio  Railroad. 

138 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

The  chairman,  however,  is  an  equally  safe 
proposition.  He  is  either  a  very  popular  man  in 
town,  or  directly  the  reverse,  and  in  either  case  his 
neighbors  enjoy  a  little  joke  at  his  expense.  Nat- 
urally the  joke,  to  be  successful,  must  have  to  do 
with  something  peculiar  to  the  moment,  which  the 
lecturer  must  find  in  the  chairman's  opening  re- 
marks. Obviously  one  cannot  be  so  freely  face- 
tious with  a  woman  as  with  a  man,  and  if  he  has 
been  properly  brought  up  does  not  even  wish  to 
be  so.  So  that  the  Lady  Chairman  invariably 
leaves  the  speaker  with  a  restricted  field  of  opera- 
tions at  the  outset. 

Of  course  in  all  these  reflections  I  am  speaking 
merely  of  the  lecturer  who  seeks  popular  rather 
than  academic  favor,  which  is  frankly  my  own 
case.  I  should  infinitely  prefer  to  find  myself 
liked  by  a  miscellaneous  audience  rather  than  by  a 
limited  company  of  scientificos  who  are  profes- 
sionally more  interested  in  things  of  the  head  than 
of  the  heart.  It  is  better  to  be  human  than  great, 
and  I  care  more  for  Humanity  than  for  the  Hu- 
manities. 

At  a  rough  estimate  I  should  say  that  in  the 
last  ten  years  I  have  been  the  beneficiary  of  the 
139 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

services  of  not  less  than  eight  hundred  chairmen, 
and  in  that  whole  list  I  can  recall  but  one  that  I 
did  not  like,  and  no  doubt  he  was  a  most  likable 
fellow.  He  was  a  clergyman  and  a  man  of  infor- 
mation, if  not  education;  but  he  seemed  to  think 
that  because  somebody  had  once  intimated  that  I 
was  a  "  humorist  "  (a  title  that  I  have  neither  laid 
claim  to,  nor  specially  desired  to  win)  I  must  nat- 
urally be  reached  only  by  a  downward  climb  from 
his  own  dignified  heights.  There  are  individuals 
in  this  world  who  conceive  humor  to  be  a  somewhat 
undignified  pursuit,  their  own  education  in  that 
branch  of  human  action  having  been  confined  to  a 
study  of  the  antics  of  the  circus  clown,  and  they 
are  likely  to  deny  to  humorists  even  the  right  to 
the  use  of  correct  English. 

"  Well,"  said  this  special  chairman  unctuously 
when  we  met  for  the  first  time,  "  you  are  from  New 
York,  I  understand." 

"  I  have  been  a  New  Yorker,"  I  said  noncom- 
mittally. 

"  I    suppose    you    know    Howells,    and    Mark 
Twain,  and  all  that  bunch?  "  he  went  on,  conde- 
scending to  use  the  kind  of  language  with  which 
he  of  course  assumed  I  was  most  familiar. 
140 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

And  it  was  just  there  that  I  took  a  violent  dis- 
like to  the  man.  The  word  hunch,  as  applied  to 
Mr.  Howells  and  Mark  Twain  by  one  of  his  pre- 
sumed education  was  not  pleasing  to  my  soul, 
though  I  should  have  loved  it  from  a  cowboy.  It 
was  as  if  somebody  had  referred  to  "  those  tal- 
ented cusses,  Carlyle  and  Emerson,"  and  I  sim- 
mered slightly  within. 

"  Well,"  I  replied,  "  I  've  known  Howells  and 
his  gang  for  ages  —  bunked  with  the  whole  kit  and 
caboodle  of  'em  for  nearly  twenty  years  — ■  and 
you  can  take  it  from  me  they  're  a  nifty  herd '. 
But  the  other  —  who  was  the  other  man.'' '' 

"  Mark  Twain,"  said  he. 

"  I  seem  to  have  heard  the  name  somewhere," 
said  I ;  "  but  I  don't  think  I  've  ever  met  him,  or 
at  least  I  don't  remember  it.  New  York 's  a 
pretty  big  place,  you  know,  and  you  can't  be 
expected  to  know  everybody.  What  was  his 
line?  " 

I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  the  reverend  gentle- 
man woke  up  at  that  point.  At  any  rate  he  gave 
me  no  clue  as  to  Mark  Twain's  identity.  He 
turned  away,  and  excused  himself  on  the  ground 
that  he  wanted  to  see  if  the  audience  was  "  all  in." 
141 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  Don't  bother,"  I  called  after  him.  "  It  will 
be  oil  in  when  I  get  through  with  it." 

But  he  never  cracked  a  smile.  I  presume  there 
were  refinements  of  slang  with  which  he  was  not 
familiar. 

As  to  the  others,  however,  I  find  as  I  run  the 
noble  army  over  in  retrospect  that  many  have 
won  their  way  into  my  affections,  and  none  are 
remembered  save  pleasantly.  Several  of  them 
stand  out  preeminently  for  acts  of  self-sacrificing 
kindness  on  my  behalf;  notably  one  gentleman  in 
Iowa  who  drove  me  over  a  distance  of  eighteen 
miles  after  midnight  through  a  raging  blizzard,  re- 
quiring the  unremitting  efforts  of  four  sturdy 
horses  to  pull  us  through,  in  order  that  I  might 
catch  a  train  back  East  and  be  with  my  children 
at  Christmas  time,  and  he  was  not  a  particularly 
emotional  man,  or  anything  of  a  sentimentalist,  at 
that. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  spur  of  his  answer  to 
a  remark  I  made  to  him  that  night  on  our  way 
from  the  hotel  to  the  lecture  hall.  The  snow  was 
falling  lightly  when  he  arrived,  but  the  distance 
to  the  hall  was  so  short  that  we  walked  it.  As 
we  came  to  the  public  square  I  noticed  that  hitched 
142 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

to  the  white  railing  about  the  county  courthouse 
that  stood  in  the  middle  thereof  were  some  thirty 
or  forty  teams,  harnessed  to  farm  wagons  of  va- 
rious types,  large  and  small.  It  was  already  after 
eight  o'clock,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  the 
wagons  there  at  so  late  an  hour. 

"  Your  people  work  late,  Mr.  Robb,"  said  I, 
as  we  sauntered  along. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  those  wagons  over  there. 
Is  n't  it  a  trifle  late  for  your  farmers  to  be  in 
town  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  those  wagons  —  why  no,  Mr. 
Bangs.  Those  wagons  are  here  for  pleasure,  not 
on  business.  They  have  brought  in  a  good  part 
of  your  audience.  Some  of  your  people  to-night 
have  driven  in  from  as  far  as  twenty  miles  to  hear 
you." 

My  heart  sank.  "  Great  Scott!  "  I  ejaculated. 
"  Twenty  miles,  eh  ?  On  a  night  like  this  —  I  — 
I  hope  I  '11  be  good  enough  for  that." 

"  /  hope  so!  "  was  his  laconic  response. 

The  rejoinder  was  as  the  prick  of  a  spur,  and 
by  its  aid,  as  well  as  with  the  assistance  of  a  de- 
lightfully receptive  gathering  of  listeners  who  had 
143 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

traveled  far  to  liave  a  good  time,  and  meant  to 
have  it  anyhow  —  a  characteristic  of  your  West- 
erner —  we  pulled  through  in  good  condition. 

When  all  was  over  this  noncommittal  lowan 
bundled  me  up  in  a  borrowed  fur  overcoat,  and  in- 
sisted on  taking  that  all-night  drive  with  me 
through  the  raging  storm  that  I  might  be  sent 
safely  and  rejoicing  back  to  my  youngsters  await- 
ing my  coming  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  It  was 
shortly  after  four  in  the  morning  when  my  train 
drew  out  of  the  distant  station,  and  the  last  I 
saw  of  my  kindly  host  he  was  standing  on  the 
railway  platform,  knee  deep  in  the  snow,  in  the 
spotlight  of  a  solitary  white  electric  lamp,  hat  in 
hand,  and  waving  his  farewells  and  good  wishes 
for  me  and  mine. 

I  rejoice  to  say  that  he  has  remained  my  friend 
over  the  eight  or  nine  years  that  have  since 
elapsed,  and  if  by  any  chance  he  shall  read  these 
lines  I  trust  they  will  serve  to  prove  to  him  that 
my  affection,  as  frequently  expressed  in  my  letters 
to  him,  is  still  quite  as  strong  and  as  deep  as  one 
with  his  capacity  for  friendliness  could  possibly 
wish  it  to  be.  And  I  wish  to  add  that  his  figure 
as  it  stands  out  in  my  memory  has  become  a  sym- 
144 


Cliairmeii  I  Have  Met 


bol  to  me  of  the  kindness,  and 
courtesy,  and  friendliness  of 
the  great-hearted  people  who 
dwell  in  what  he  and  his  fel- 
lows properly  and  pridefully 
refer  to  always  as  "  God's 
Own  Country." 

Another  Iowa  chairman, 
whose  charming  companion- 
ship and  courtesy  I  shall  al- 
ways remember,  will  not  mind, 
I  am  sure,  if  I  record  here  a 
most  amusing  "  break  "  that 
he  made  at  our  first  meeting, 
which,  I  hasten  to  add,  he 
more  than  redeemed  after- 
ward when  the  stress  and 
strain  of  the  evening  relaxed. 
He  dwelt  in  what  appeared  to 
be  a  most  flourishing  little 
city  in  the  northern  part  of 
the  State.  I  had  arrived  there 
early  in  the  afternoon,  and  was 
so  much  impressed  by  the 
clean-cut  appearance  of  cvery- 
145 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

thing  I  saw  that  I  lingered  upon  the  streets  long 
after  I  should  have  sought  my  couch  to  rest  up 
for  the  evening.  The  streets  were  as  clean  as  a 
whistle.  The  dwellings  were  attractive  in  design 
and  setting,  and  the  business  blocks  were  of  a  dig- 
nified if  not  massive  style  of  architecture.  Best 
of  all,  if  I  could  judge  from  those  I  saw  to-ing 
and  fro-ing  upon  the  streets,  the  people  them- 
selves were  alert  and  active. 

In  view  of  all  this  apparent  prosperity  I  was  a 
trifle  surprised  when  the  chairman  arrived  at  the 
hotel  to  find  him  rather  depressed.  He  was  a 
clergyman,  and  at  first  glance  seemed  to  be  suffer- 
ing from  profound  melancholy ;  so  very  profound 
indeed  that  I  deemed  it  my  duty  to  try  to  cheer 
him  up. 

"  What  a  fine,  prosperous  little  city  you  have 
here,  Doctor,"  said  I  with  genuine  enthusiasm. 
"  I  've  put  in  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon 
looking  the  place  over,  and  I  tell  you  it  has  filled 
me  with  joy." 

"  Humph !  "  said  he  gloomily.  "  It  looks  pros- 
perous, but  —  it  ain't!  It's  a  bank-made  town. 
The  banks  got  here  first,  and  induced  people  to 
come  and  settle  on  easy  terms,  and  the  terms 
146 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

have  n't  turned  out  quite  so  easy  as  they  might. 
There  's  hardly  a  man  in  this  town  that  is  n't  up 
to  his  chin  in  debt." 

"  Oh,  well,  what  of  that.?  "  said  I,  still  resolved 
to  win  out  on  a  tolerably  hopeless  proposition. 
"  Of  course  debt  is  a  bad  thing ;  but  sometimes  it 
acts  as  a  spur.  Your  people  are  a  bright  and 
brainy  looking  lot.  It  won't  take  them  long  to 
settle  up." 

"  Oh,  they  look  bright  and  brainy,"  he  returned 
sadly ;  "  but  they  airi't!  There  is  n't  one  man  in 
ten  '11  understand  a  half  of  what  you  say  to  them 
to-night." 

"  Look  here.  Doctor !  "  said  I,  beginning  to  wax 
a  trifle  chilly  myself,  especially  in  the  regions  of 
my  pedal  extremities.  "  What  are  you  trying  to 
do,  discourage  me.'*  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied,  with  a  mournful  shake  of 
his  head.  "  If  I  'd  been  trying  to  discourage  you, 
I  'd  have  told  you  about  our  lecture  hall.  It 's 
without  any  exception  the  meanest  thing  of  its 
kind  on  the  American  continent.  Why,"  he 
added,  holding  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  utter 
despair,  "  why,  if  we  had  a  lecture  hall  that  was 
only  halfway  decent,  we  could  afford  to  have  some- 
147 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

body  out  here  to  talk  to  us  that  would  he  worth 
listening  to!  " 

The  chairman  who  in  the  exuberance  of  his  own 
eloquence  forgets  the  name  of  the  individual  he  is 
introducing,  even  though  he  has  announced  that 
that  name  is  a  "  household  word,"  is  no  creature 
of  the  imagination,  and  if  the  stories  that  are  told 
of  him  seem  hackneyed,  it  is  not  because  they  are 
so  frequently  told,  but  because  they  happen  so 
frequently  in  the  experience  of  all  platform  speak- 
ers, and  in  almost  identical  manner.  Even  so 
well  known  a  man  as  Mr.  Bryan  has  suffered 
from  this,  one  enthusiastic  admirer  in  New  York 
having  once,  after  a  skyscraping  peroration, 
led  up  with  climacteric  force  to  the  name 
of  "  our  Peerless  Leader,  William  J.  Bren- 
nings.'* 

In  my  own  platform  experience  I  have  had 
chairmen  come  to  me  at  the  last  moment  and  con- 
fess with  most  childlike  frankness  that  they  have 
never  heard  of  me  before,  asking  me  to  help  them 
out  because  they  really  did  n't  know  *'  what  in 
Tophet  to  say."  One  individual  out  on  the  Pa- 
cific Coast  approached  me  one  night  about  ten 
minutes  before  the  lecture  was  scheduled  to  begin, 
148 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

and  revealed  to  me  his  terrible  embarrassment  over 
this  latter  situation. 

"  I  did  n't  know  until  half  an  hour  ago  that  I 
was  to  present  you  to  our  people  to-night,"  said 
he,  "  and  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  Mr.  Bangs,  / 
never  heard  of  you  before.  Will  you  please  tell  me 
who  you  are,  and  what  you  are,  and  why  you  are? 
And  is  there  anything  pleasant  I  can  say  about 
you  in  introducing  you  to  your  audience?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  I  had  known  I  was  to  have 
the  privilege  of  preparing  the  obituary  notice 
you  are  to  deliver  over  my  prostrate  remains  while 
I  lie  in  state  upon  the  platform  to-night,  I  should 
have  written  out  something  that  would  have  been 
mighty  proud  reading  for  the  little  Bangses  when 
I  sent  marked  copies  of  to-morrow  morning's 
papers  back  East  to  show  them  what  a  great  man 
their  daddy  is  in  the  West.  But  I  have  n't  time 
to  tell  you  the  whole  story  of  my  past  life,  and 
there  are  certain  sections  of  it  I  would  n't  tell  you 
if  I  had.  I  have  been  a  Democrat  in  New  York  and 
a  Republican  in  Maine." 

"  You  might  at  least  make  a  suggestion  or  two 
to  help  me  out,  though,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  I,  "  there  are  plenty  of  pleas- 
149 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

ant  things  you  can  say  about  me.  In  the  first 
place,  you  can  tell  that  audience  that  — " 

"  Hold  on  a  moment,  Mr.  Bangs,"  he  inter- 
rupted, raising  his  hand  to  stop  me.  "  Just  one 
minute,  please !  You  ^ve  got  to  remember  that  I 
am  a  clergyman  and  must  speak  the  truth!  " 

I  resolved  to  let  him  go  his  own  gait,  and  com- 
forted him  by  telling  him  he  could  say  whatever 
he  pleased,  and  that  I  would  "  stand  for  it." 

And  I  must  confess  he  acquitted  himself  nobly. 
In  his  hands  I  became  one  of  the  Princes  of  Let- 
ters, the  titles  of  whose  many  books  were  too  well 
known  to  need  any  enumeration  of  them  there,  and 
as  for  my  name  —  why,  it  would  be  an  imperti- 
nence for  him  even  to  mention  it,  *'  because,  my 
friends,"  said  he,  "  I  am  perfectly  well  aware  that 
that  name  is  as  familiar  to  you  as  it  is  to  me." 

Another  good  gentleman  in  the  South,  sum- 
moned to  do  duty  as  chairman  at  the  last  moment, 
sought  no  aid  either  from  myself  or  from  "  Who's 
Who,"  trusting,  like  the  good  Christian  he  was,  ut- 
terly to  Holy  Writ.  He  began  most  impressively 
with  selections  from  the  Book  of  Genesis.  "  In 
the  beginning  God  created  the  earth,"  said  he, 
and  then  he  ran  lightly  over  the  sequences  of  cre- 
150 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

ated  things  until  he  had  ushered  the  birds  of  the 
air,  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  the  fishes  of  the 
sea  on  to  the  stage,  and  thence  with  an  easy  jump 
he  came  to  myself. 

*'  And  then,  my  friends,"  he  said,  with  an  im- 
pressive pause,  "  the  Creator  felt  that  He  should 
create  something  to  have  dominion  over  all  these 
things  that  He  knew  were  good  —  a  creature  of 
heart,  a  creature  of  soul,  a  creature  of  in-till-ect, 
and  so  He  made  man.  INIy  friends,  it  is  such  a 
one  tliat  we  have  with  us  to-night  who  will  speak 
to  you  upon  his  own  subject  as  only  he  can  do. 
It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  introduce  to  you  the 
speaker  of  the  evening,  who  is  too  well  known  to 
you  all  to  need  any  further  eulogy  on  my  part." 

The  good  gentleman  then  retired  to  a  proscen- 
ium box  at  the  right  of  the  stage,  where  he  at  once 
proceeded  to  fall  asleep,  and  snored  so  lustily  that 
everybody  in  the  house  was  delighted,  including 
myself  —  although,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  envied  him 
his  nap,  for  I  was  immortally  tired. 

One  of  the  dearest  of  my  chairmen  was  a  fine 
old  gentleman  in  West  Virginia,  to  meet  and  know 
whom  was  truly  an  inspiration.  He  was  a  pro- 
found scholar,  and  had  enjoyed  the  rare  privilege 
151 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

in  a  long  and  useful  life  of  knowing  intimately 
some  of  the  demigods  of  American  literature.  His 
reminiscences  of  Emerson,  and  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  and  Longfellow,  and  Hawthorne,  and 
others  of  our  most  brilliant  literary  epoch,  were 
a  delight  to  listen  to,  and  I  was  sorry  when  the 
time  came  for  us  to  go  out  upon  the  platform. 
It  would  have  been  a  greater  treat  for  that 
audience  to  listen  to  him  than  to  me,  and  I  heartily 
wished  we  might  exchange  places  for  the  moment. 
Like  a  great  many  others  of  my  chairmen,  this 
gentleman  experienced  some  difficulty  in  getting 
the  title  of  my  lecture,  "  Salubrities  I  Have  Met," 
straight  in  his  mind.  More  than  once  during  our 
little  chat  together  he  would  pause  and  say: 

"  What  is  the  title  of  your  talk  again.''  It  has 
slipped  my  mind." 

"  Sal-u-bri-ties  I  Have  Met,"  I  would  say. 

"  Tell  me  again  —  is  it  Salubrities  or  Celebri- 
ties.'' "  he  would  ask. 

"  Salubrities,"  I  would  reply.  And  then  I 
would  spell  it  out  for  him,  "  S-A-L-U-B-R-I- 
T-I-E-S,  Salubrities.  Not  in  any  case  Celebri- 
ties, or  you  will  spoil  my  opening." 

"  I  '11  try  to  remember  it,"  lie  would  say,  with 
152 


Chairmen  I  Have  Met 

a  mistrustful  shake  of  his  head  as  if  he  feared  it 
was  impossible.     "  It 's  rather  elusive,  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  write  it  down  on  a  slip 
of  paper,"  I  said  at  the  last. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied.     "  I  think  I  have  it  now 

—  Salubrities,  Salubrities,  Salubrities  —  yes  — 
I  —  I  think  I  have  it." 

We  walked  out  upon  the  platform,  and  the  dear 
old  gentleman  began  a  short  address  so  filled  with 
witty  and  pleasant  things  that  I  have  ever  since 
wished  I  could  have  had  a  stenographer  present  to 
take  it  down  in  shorthand.  It  would  have  formed 
an  excellent  standard  of  conduct  and  achievement 
worthy  of  any  man's  striving.  And  then  he  came 
to  my  subject. 

"  And  to-night,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"  Mr.  Bangs  has  come  to  us  to  give  us  his  famous 
lecture  on  —  ahem  —  on  —  er  —  he  has  come,  I 
say,  to  give  us  his  inimitable  talk  on  —  er  —  on 

—  er  — " 

I  leaned  forward,  and  tried  to  give  it  to  him  in  a 
stage  whisper ;  but  was  too  late.  His  impetus  car- 
ried him  on  to  destruction 

" —  his  delightful  talk  on  Lubricators  He  Has 
Met,"  said  he. 

153 


Fro?n  Pillar  to  Post 

Without  any  jealousies  let  me  confess  that  that 
observation  was  truly  the  hit  of  the  evening.  The 
bulk  of  the  audience  had  been  themselves  so  mysti- 
fied by  the  possible  significance  of  the  word  Sa- 
lubrities that  they  knew  the  title  by  heart,  and  we 
began  the  evening  with  a  roar  of  laughter  that 
made  us  all  friends  at  once.  And  as  a  matter  of 
fact  no  harm  was  done ;  for  "  Lubricators  I  Have 
Met  "  was  quite  as  good  a  title  as  the  other,  for 
my  Salubrities  are  men  and  women  who  have  made 
the  world  happier,  and  better,  and  sweeter,  by  their 
kindliness  and  graciousness,  and  what  in  the  world 
could  be  more  fitting  than  that  the  people  who  do 
that  should  be  called  Lubricators? 


154. 


IX 

CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCES 

THE  delightful  author  of  that  most  appealing 
story,  "  The  Friendly  Road,"  had  only  to 
scratch  the  surface  of  things  a  little  to  find  many 
a  golden  nugget  of  friendliness  and  courtesy  in  the 
mines  of  the  human  spirit.  As  I  look  back  on  my 
many  thousands  of  miles  of  travel  in  this  country 
I  find  myself  able  to  say  with  equal  confidence  that 
on  the  Roads  of  Steel,  and  the  lanes  tributary 
thereto,  where  few  of  us  would  think  to  look  for 
such  things,  I  too  have  found  my  golden  nuggets 
without  more  than  half-trying  to  find  them. 
I  have  already  spoken  of  my  friends  among  the 
trainmen,  to  whose  fidelity  and  watchful  care  I 
have  owed  my  safe  transit  and  my  comfort  in  many 
a  long  and  weary  stretch.  They  have  been  an 
abundant  source  of  happiness  to  me ;  but  there 
have  been  others  still,  in  whose  wit  and  fraternal 
companionship,  and  illuminating  discourse,  I  have 
155 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

found  both  pleasure  and  profit.  Many  of  these 
have  been  the  chance  acquaintances  of  the  smoker 
and  the  observation  car  en  route. 

It  does  not  happen  often  here  in  the  East  that 
we  make  friends  "  by  rail."  Possibly  it  is  because 
the  distances  traversed  are  comparatively  short. 
Perhaps  too  it  is  due  to  the  Eastern  Reserve,  which 
is  a  State  of  Mind,  just  as  the  Western  Reserve 
has  become  several  States  of  Being.  I  know  that 
the  democratic  Westerner  traveling  in  the  East 
finds  us  apparently  cold  and  unresponsive ;  though 
I  doubt  we  are  really  so.  We  are  merely  hurried, 
and  possibly  worried ;  too  preoccupied  to  notice 
the  many  little  opportunities  for  friendly  inter- 
course that  a  railway  journey  presents. 

It  is  my  own  impression  that  the  distance  to  be 
traveled  has  largely  to  do  with  this  difference  of 
manner  between  the  Eastern  man  and  his  brother 
from  the  West.  The  average  Easterner  who  has 
never  penetrated  the  West  farther  than  Sandy 
Hook  has  no  real  conception  of  the  magnificence 
of  those  distances  about  and  beyond  the  Missis- 
sippi Valley.  At  times  when  for  reasons  of  busi- 
ness or  pleasure  I  have  gone  from  my  home  in 
Maine  to  my  encampment  in  New  York,  between 
156 


Chance  Acquaintances 

the  hours  of  six  p.m.  on  a  Tuesday,  say,  and  six 
A.M.  of  the  following  Wednesday,  I  have  passed 
through  six  separate  American  commonwealths ; 
but  in  those  Far  Western  stretches  I  have  time  and 
again  spent  my  full  twenty-four  hours  upon  the 
road  without  in  any  wise  finding  myself  subject  to 
the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  Interstate  Com- 
merce Commission. 

Out  of  this  rises,  naturally  enough,  a  differ- 
ence in  attitude  toward  one's  fellow  travelers. 
There  comes  to  be  a  greater  sense  of  a  settled 
community  interest  on  the  longer  journey,  which 
brings  with  it  greater  inclination  for  social  inter- 
course with  one's  neighbors  of  the  sleeper. 

One  of  the  conspicuous  results  of  my  contact 
with  humanity  on  the  road  has  been  that  I  have 
come  to  hold  a  very  high  respect  for  the  traveling 
man ;  so  high  indeed  that  where  ten  years  ago  I 
should  probably  have  spoken  of  him  in  the  terms 
of  our  American  vernacular  as  a  drummer,  I  have 
now  definitely  ejected  that  word  from  my  vocabu- 
lary, save  in  its  narrower  meaning  as  applied  to 
that  overnoisy  person  who  beats  that  most  un- 
musical musical  instrument,  the  drum,  in  our  mod- 
ern bands.  These  commercial  travelers  average 
157 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

high  in  character  and  in  intellect,  and  the  man 
who  keeps  his  ears  open  while  in  their  company 
can  hardly  fail  to  learn  much  from  their  discourse. 
The  best  of  them  know  their  own  special  lines  from 
the  ground  up,  and  if  my  observation  of  them  is 
correct  the  very  least  of  them  are  authorities  on 
human  nature. 

I  do  not  wish  to  boast,  but  I  think  that  if  some 
emergency  should  arise  requiring  me  to  prepare 
offhand  an  article  on  suspenders,  straw  hats,  auto- 
mobiles, or  canned  tomatoes,  I  could  qualify  as  an 
apparent  authority,  anyhow,  from  things  I  have 
heard  directly  from  the  good  fellows  pursuing 
those  particular  lines,  or  have  overheard  in  their 
chats  with  others,  in  the  smoking  cars.  More  than 
once  I  have  left  a  symposium  conducted  by  a  group 
of  these  gentlemen  almost  obsessed  with  the  notion 
that  our  universities  might  be  better  qualified  to 
do  their  real  work  in  life  if  the  average  college  pro- 
fessor were  able  to  "  get  his  stuff  over  "  as  hu- 
manly, as  clearly,  as  entertainingly,  and  as  ef- 
fectively as  do  the  bulk  of  these  advance  agents  of 
the  American  industrial  world.  Tliey  are,  accord- 
ing to  their  several  capacities,  full  of  their  subject, 
saturated  with  it,  enthusiastic  over  it,  and  wholly 
158 


Chance  Acquaintances 

unreluctant  when  they  get  even  half  a  chance  to 
reveal  their  knowledge  to  a  ready  listener. 

I  have  met  men  on  the  road  who  were  as  eloquent 
on  the  subject  of  men's  underwear  as  I  should  like 
to  be  on  the  necessity  of  a  cheerier  spirit  in  meet- 
ing the  trials  of  life,  and  one  effervescent  soul  on 
a  Pacific  Coast  trip  once  held  me  and  mine  spell- 
bound by  his  remarkable  disquisition  on  the  spirit- 
ual influence  of  comfortable  shoes,  talking  for  a 
longer  time  than  I  have  ever  yet  listened  willingly 
to  a  sermon  on  some  seemingly  less  homely  topic. 
And  as  authorities  on  the  state  of  the  nation, 
political,  commercial,  and  spiritual  —  well,  any 
kind  of  administration,  Republican,  Democratic, 
Progressive,  would  not  do  badly  were  it  to  summon 
a  congress  of  these  individuals  to  meet  annually  at 
Washington,  to  confer  with  it,  to  inform  it,  and  to 
lay  before  it  anj^hing  having  directly  or  remotely 
to  do  with  "  things  as  is." 

They  are  by  nature  diplomats,  by  instinct  ora- 
tors, and  of  necessity  they  are  profound  students  of 
human  nature.  They  have  to  be  adaptable  to  cir- 
cumstance, ready  of  resource,  and  full  of  tolerance. 
I  take  off  my  hat  to  them,  and  heartily  congratu- 
late the  business  interests  of  the  United  States  to- 
159 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

day  upon  the  high  character  and  quality  of  man- 
hood of  this  splendid  army  in  the  field  of  commerce. 

One  of  these  good  fellows  several  years  ago  en- 
livened me  for  many  weary  hours  on  a  tedious 
journey  from  Kansas  City  to  Minneapolis.  The 
journey  was  full  of  annoying  mishaps,  thanks  to 
a  habit  some  of  our  Southern  and  Western  rail- 
way people  have,  lacking  roses  and  other  fresh 
flowers,  of  strewing  freight  wrecks  in  my  path. 
It  is  an  expensive  tribute ;  but  I  would  willingly 
go  without  it. 

On  this  occasion  my  friend  and  I  dined  together, 
breakfasted  together,  characterized  our  luck  in  a 
beautiful  commingling  of  strong  language  to- 
gether, and  together  we  watched  the  painfully  slow 
operations  of  the  train  wreckers  removing  that 
tributary  debris  from  the  tracks.  He  was  buoy- 
ant and  undismayed  by  trial,  and  for  hours  he 
orated  eloquently  upon  his  subject,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  straw  hats.  When  he  got  through, 
had  I  taken  notes,  I  could  have  qualified  for  a  Uni- 
versity degree  upon  that  subject  if  I  had  sought 
an  S.  T.  D.  (Doctor  of  Straw  Tiling). 

The  vast  gulf  that  sepai'ates  the  near-Panama 
from  the  real  thing  became  perfectly  clear  to  me 
160 


Chance  Acquaintances 

then,  if  it  had  never  been  so  before,  and  I  knew 
how  it  had  come  about  that  a  New  Yprker  could 
buy  a  Panama  hat  for  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
on  Eighth  avenue  which  on  Fifth  avenue  would 
cost  him  ten  dollars ;  and  why  a  three-dollar  Leg- 
horn purchased  in  Cliicago  was  inferior  to  a 
ninety-five  dollar  Leghorn  manufactured  in  New- 
ark, New  Jersey,  was  made  so  obvious  that  I  have 
worn  neither  since.  His  discourse  was  lucid,  pic- 
turesque, convincing,  and  so  completely  compre- 
hensive that  women's  hats  became  no  more  of  a 
mystery  to  me  than  are  those  which  our  truck 
horses  wear  in  midsummer  with  their  ears  sticking 
up  through  holes  in  the  crown.  As  we  drew  near 
our  destination  I  suddenly  observed  a  smile  break- 
ing out  on  his  lips,  and  a  decided  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Good  Lord!  "  said  he.  "  I  've  only  just  real- 
ized that  I  have  been  talking  you  deaf,  dumb,  and 
blind  for  nearly  twenty-four  straight  hours,  with- 
out giving  you  a  chance  to  slide  in  a  word  edge- 
wise. I  hope  I  have  n't  made  you  think  life 's 
nothing  but  a  hat  to  me?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "  I  've  learned  a  lot. 
You  've  made  life  worth  living." 

"  I  get  so  infernally  interested  in  my  business," 
161 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


said  he  apologetically,  "  that  sometimes  I  don't 
realize  that  maybe  the  other  fellow  has  something 
to  say  too.  I  meant  to  have  asked  you  this  morn- 
ing, but  I  forgot.     What 's  your  line,?  " 

I  was 
seized  with  a 
jocular  im- 
pulse, and  I 
answered  in- 
s  t  a  n  t  1  y 
"  Na  t  u  r  a  1 
gas." 

He  looked 
at  me  with  a 
puzzled  ex- 
pression. 
"Natural 
gas  ?  "  he  re- 
p  e  a  t  e  d. 
"  That 's  a 
queer  busi- 
ness. How 
do  you  make  deliveries  ?  " 

"  Come  around  to  the  lecture  hall  with  me  to- 
night and  I  '11  show  you,"  said  I. 
162 


'  'When  he 
got  through 
I  could  have 
qualified  for 
a  college 
degree  on 
the  subject 
of  straw 
hats.' ' 


Chance  Acquaintances 

He  threw  his  head  back  and  roared  with  laugh- 
ter.    *'  By  George !  the  dinner  's  on  me ! "  he  said. 

He  accompanied  me  to  the  hall  that  evening,  and 
sitting  in  the  front  row  gazed  at  me  quizzically  all 
through  my  labors  —  full  of  sympathy  and  under- 
standing, however  —  and  after  the  affair  was  over 
and  he  joined  me  for  my  return  journey  to  the 
hotel  he  slapped  me  hard  on  the  back. 

"  Some  gas,  all  right !  "  said  he.  "  I  would  n't 
blow  that  out  if  I  could !  " 

Which  I  took  to  be  one  of  the  most  genuine  com- 
pliments I  have  ever  received. 

I  have  never  in  any  of  my  trips  felt  myself  in 
danger  of  assassination,  and  yet  one  of  these 
chance  acquaintances  of  mine  involved  me  by  his 
love  of  practical  joking  in  an  implied  ultimatum 
from  a  stranger  of  a  most  awe-inspiring  nature. 
In  leaving  a  California  city  some  years  ago  I  found 
myself  seated  with  a  group  of  other  travelers  just 
inside  the  rear  door  of  the  observation  car.  The 
train  had  come  to  a  sudden  standstill  alongside  a 
row  of  flourishing  olive  trees,  and  the  traveling 
man  (if  I  remember  correctly  he  was  to  Suspenders 
what  Darwin  was  to  the  Origin  of  Species)  jumped 
from  the  platform  and  plucked  a  handful  of  their 
163 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

fruit  from  branches  overhanging  the  border  of 
the  road.  Three  of  these  he  passed  in  to  me,  and 
in  the  innocence  of  my  young  heart  I  immediately 
plumped  one  of  them  into  my  mouth,  and  bit  into 
it. 

The  result  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe.  Our 
dictionaries  have  at  least  a  dozen  separate  and  dis- 
tinct terms  signifying  that  which  is  bitter,  no  sin- 
gle one  of  which  is  adequate  even  to  intimate  the 
taste  of  that  olive.  There  are  such  expressions  as 
"gall  and  wormwood";  there  are  adjectives  in- 
volving such  qualifications  of  taste  as  "  ac- 
rid," "  nauseous,"  "  sharp,"  "  tangy,"  "  sting- 
ing," "  rough,"  and  "  gamy."  None  suffices. 
I  have  tasted  rue,  I  have  tasted  aloes,  I  have 
tasted  quassia,  and  I  have  nearly  died  of  squills. 
As  a  small  boy  I  once  started  in  to  chew 
a  four-grain  quinine  pill  that  had  been  rolled  with 
no  ameliorating  ingredient  to  take  off  the  tang  of 
it.  But  never  in  my  life  before  or  since  have  I 
tasted  anything  comparable  to  that  olive  for  pure, 
unadulterated  acerbity.  It  was  an  Ossa  of  Gall 
piled  on  a  Pelion  of  Wormwood  —  I  might  say 
that  it  represented  the  complete  reunion  of  that 
Gall  which  the  historians  of  the  past  have  told  us 
164 


Chance  Acquaintances 

was  "  divided  into  three  parts  " —  and  I  suffered 
accordingly. 

But  when  I  saw  that  traveling  man's  eye  full  of 
twinkling  joy  fixed  upon  me  I  resolved  not  to  let 
him  know  that  the  horrid  thing  was  not  the  most 
exquisite  bit  of  ambrosial  sweetness  that  had  ever 
been  perpetrated  upon  my  paralyzed  palate.  I 
simply  chewed  quietly  ahead,  externally  as  calm 
and  as  placid  as  any  cow  that  ever  fletcherized  her 
cud. 

"  How  is  it  ?  "  asked  another  traveler,  sitting 
alongside  me. 

"  Delicious  !  "  said  I.     "  Have  one." 

And  I  handed  him  over  one  of  my  two  remaining 
olives.  He  was  as  innocent  as  I,  but  not  quite  so 
self-controlled.  Even  as  I  had  done,  he  too 
plumped  the  olive  into  his  mouth,  bit  into  it  — 
and  forthwith  exploded.  I  shall  not  repeat  here 
the  appeal  to  Heaven  that  issued  from  his  lips 
along  with  the  offending  olive  itself.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  although  there  were  several  ladies  present 
it  was  verbally  adequate.  And  then  out  of  the 
depths  of  the  car,  from  a  physical  giant  lolling  at 
ease  in  a  plush-covered  arm  chair,  came  a  deep, 
basso-profundo  voice. 

165 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  I  'd  kill  any  man  who  did  that  to  me!  "  it  said, 
witli  a  vicious  aspirate  at  the  beginning  of  the 
word  kill. 

But  there  was  no  murder  done,  and  before  night 
as  our  train  rolled  over  into  Nevada  we  were  as 
happy  a  family  as  one  will  be  likely  to  find  under 
any  kind  of  roof  in  the  far-ofF  days  of  the  millen- 
nium. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  look  for  fine  literary  and 
other  distinctions  in  the  minds  of  men  engaged  in 
the  humbler  pursuits  of  life,  and  yet  from  two  of 
my  chance  acquaintances  en  route,  both  barbers, 
I  have  gathered  subtleties  of  line  that  have  re- 
mained with  me  impressively  ever  since.  The  first 
of  these  worthy  toilers  and  subconscious  philoso- 
phers I  discovered  in  a  Chicago  hotel  in  1905.  I 
was  on  my  way  into  Iowa  for  a  week  of  one-night 
stands,  having  come  almost  directly  from  one  of 
the  most  delightful  of  my  literary  opportunities 
—  Colonel  George  Harvey's  dinner  in  honor  of 
Mark  Twain's  seventieth  birthday. 

The  stains  of  travel  needed  to  be  removed,  and 

I  sought  the  aid  of  the  hero  of  my  tale,  a  stocky 

little  chap,  whose  face  suggested  an  ancestry  part 

Spanish  and  part  East  Side  New  York.     I  will  say 

166 


Chmice  Acquaintances 

that  judged  externally  I  should  not  have  cared  to 
meet  him  in  a  dark  alley  after  midnight ;  but  in- 
wardly he  turned  out  to  be  a  pretty  good  sort  of 
fellow.     His  speech  was  pure  vernacular. 

As  he  was  cutting  my  hair  I  glanced  over  the 
supplement  to  that  week's  issue  of  "  Harper's 
Weekly,"  at  that  time  under  Harvey's  control, 
devoted  to  a  full  account  of  the  Mark  Twain  din- 
ner both  in  picture  and  in  text.  In  turning  over 
the  leaves  to  see  what  kind  of  melon-shaped  head 
the  flashlight  photographer  had  given  me  I  came 
upon  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  the  group  of 
which  I  had  been  a  member,  and  was  relieved  to 
find  that  the  print  had  treated  me  fairl}'  well,  and 
that  instead  of  looking  like  a  cross  between  a  pro- 
fessional gambler  and  a  train  robber,  as  most  of 
my  published  portraits  have  made  me  appear,  the 
thing  was  recognizable,  and  in  certain  unsuspect- 
ing quarters  might  enable  me  to  pass  as  a  reputa- 
ble citizen.  The  snipping  of  the  scissors  back  of 
my  ear  suddenly  ceased  as  I  gazed  upon  my  alleged 
"  liniments  " —  as  an  old  friend  of  mine  used  to 
call  them  —  and  the  barber's  voice  broke  the  still- 
ness. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  pointing  with  the  scissors  point 
167 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

to  the  portrait  of  myself,  "  that  guy  looks  sump'n 
like  you,  don't  he?  " 

"  He  ought  to,"  said  I.  "  Me  and  him  's  the 
same  guy." 

"Well  whaddyer  know  about  that!"  he  ejacu- 
lated.    "Really?" 

"  Yep,"  said  I. 

"  And  you  're  from  New  York,  eh?  "  he  went  on, 
resuming  his  labors.     "  What 's  the  name?  " 

I  enlightened  hiin,  and  received  the  inevitable 
question. 

"  Whaddyer  think  of  Chicago?  " 

It  had  happened  that  every  visit  I  had  made  to 
Chicago  for  several  years  had  shown  that  city 
almost  completely  hidden  beneath  a  pall  of  sooty 
cloud  and  lake  fog ;  so  I  answered  him  accordingly. 

"  Why,  I  like  Chicago  very  much,"  said  I,  "  very 
much  indeed ;  but  there  is  room  for  improvement 
here,  of  course.  For  instance,  Chicago  is  dark, 
and  gloomy,  and  cold.  Now  over  in  New  York," 
I  added,  "  we  have  a  little  round,  yellow  ball  that 
is  hauled  up  into  the  sky  out  of  the  wilds  of 
Long  Island  every  morning,  and  it  is  so  arranged 
that  it  moves  in  a  perfect  semicircle  through  the  sky 
at  the  rate  of  about  sixty  seconds  a  minute.  It  is  a 
168 


Chance  Acquaintances 

wonderful  invention.  It  sheds  light  on  everything, 
on  everybody,  and  sort  of  warms  things  up  for  us, 
and  unlike  most  things  in  New  York  it  does  n't 
cost  anybody  a  cent.  Best  of  all,  when  the  day 
is  over,  and  we  want  things  darkened  up  a  bit  so 
that  we  can  go  to  sleep,  the  little  ball  sinks  out  of 
sight  over  on  the  western  side  of  the  city." 

"  Aw  go  wan !  "  he  put  in.  "  I  know  what  you 
mean  —  you  mean  the  sun." 

*' Yes,"  said  I;  "that's  just  what  we  call  it. 

You  've   evidently  heard  of  it  before  —  but  why 

don't  you  have  something  of  the  kind  out  here?  " 

His   reply   was    a   mixture   of   a   snort   and   a 

snifF. 

I  then  went  on  my  journey  into  Iowa,  and  at  the 
end  of  about  ten  days  was  back  in  Chicago  once 
more,  and  in  need  of  further  renovation  I  again 
sought  the  assistance  of  my  tonsorial  friend. 
After  a  cordial  greeting  he  said: 

"  Say  —  I  told  my  wife  how  I  'd  fixed  you  up 
the  other  day,  and  she  'd  heard  of  you  before. 
You  wrote  a  book  called  '  Tea  and  Coffee  '  once, 
didn't  cha?" 

"  Something    like    that,"    I    replied.     "  It    was 
called  *  Coffee  and  Repartee.'  " 
169 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  Well,  anyhow,  whatever  the  thing  was  called, 
she  'd  read  it,"  said  the  barber. 

"  I  have  met  two  other  people  who  have  done  the 
same  thing  and  lived ;  so  don't  worry,"  I  observed. 

"  Whaddyer  suppose  she  ast  me?  "  he  queried. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  said  I.     "  What?  " 

"  She  ast  me,"  said  he,  "  was  you  so  very  comi- 
cal, and  I  told  her  no,  Jie  ain't  so  damned  comical, 
but  he  '5  a  hell  of  a  Kidder!  " 

I  may  be  wrong,  but  it  has  ever  since  seemed  to 
me  that  there  was  a  particularly  nice  distinction 
involved  in  this  spontaneous  estimate  of  my  char- 
acter, and  it  may  be  that  a  great  many  of  our 
American  humorists,  so  called,  would  be  more 
aptly  described  as  kidders.  Our  guying  propen- 
sities, and  the  tongue-in-the-cheek  style  of  humor 
so  prevalent  to-day,  suggest  the  thought  anyhow 
that  the  term  Kidder  is  more  discriminating  than 
that  of  humorist,  as  signifying  the  qualities  of  a 
Cervantes,  a  Rabelais,  a  Swift,  or  a  Mark  Twain. 

It  was  in  a  South  Carolina  barber  shop  that  the 
second  nicety  came  unexpectedly  upon  me.  I  had 
looked  for  a  certain  quaint  philosophy  and  humor 
among  the  negroes  of  the  South,  and  must  confess 
to  considerable  disappointment  in  not  finding  much 
170 


Chance  Acquaintances 

of  it.  The  picturesque  article  in  the  African  line 
that  has  so  delighted  us  in  the  fiction  of  our  mas- 
ters of  the  pen  from  the  South  seems  either  to  have 
vanished  completely  from  the 
face  of  the  earth  or  to  be 
a  trifle  shy  in  the  revelation 
of  itself  to  outsiders.  At 
any  rate  I  found  little  of  it 
in  my  wanderings  in  that 
territory;  although  a  some- 
what disagreeable 
amount  of  self- 
conscious  quaint- 
ness,  "  for  revenue 
only,"  was  not 
wanting  among 
negroes  encoun- 
tered. 

But    this    white 
barber,   an  anemic  little  man, 
and    languid  manner    bespoke 


11  ^ 
whose  lazy  drawl 
anything  but  in- 
dependence of  spirit,  and  in  whose  presence  I 
instinctively  thought  of  the  term  "  white  trash," 
gave  me  in  full  measure  what  I  had  looked  for 
in  the  sons  of  Ham.  After  sitting  in  his  chair 
171 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

for  a  few  minutes  I  mentioned  casually  that  South 
Carolina  had  a  "  fine  Governor,"  referring  to  an 
individual  named  Blease,  who  at  that  time,  occupied 
the  high  seat  at  Columbia,  and  of  whose  gyroscopic 
talents  I  had  yet  to  find  a  South  Carolinian  of 
standing  who  was  proud. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  use  fo'  Mistuh  Blease,  suh,"  the 
man  replied,  stroking  his  razor  up  and  down  the 
strop  with  a  vigor  entirely  out  of  keeping  with  his 
presumed  character.  If  I  had  been  a  blind  man,  I 
should  have  felt  sure  he  was  a  negro,  such  was  his 
accent. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  I.  "  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  find  somebody  in  the  State  who  has 
some  use  for  him ;  but  so  far  it  all  seems  to  be  the 
other  way." 

"  No,  suh,  I  ain't  got  no  use  fo'  him,  suh,"  con- 
tinued the  barber.  "  I  don't  like  his  kind,  suh. 
I  have  shaved  Mistuh  Blease  many  a  time,  suh,  an' 
when  he  was  runnin'  fo'  Governah  he  came  in  hyere 
most  every  day,  suh.  One  mornin'  I  says  to  him, 
'  Mistuh  Blease,'  says  I,  '  you  'd  ought  to  be  a 
mighty  proud  man,  suh,  runnin'  fo'  Governah  of 
South  Cyarolina,  suh,  an'  sure  to  git  it.  That 's 
an  honah,  suh,'  I  says,  '  fo'  yo'  and  yo'  children 
172 


Chance  Acquaintances 

and  yo'  children's  children  to  be  proud  of.'  And 
what  do  you  suppose  he  answered,  suh?  '  To 
Blank  with  the  honah ! '  says  he.  '  What  the  blank 
do  yo'  suppose  I  caiah  fo'  the  honah?  ' 

"  And  I  \'e  nuiwer  give  him  the  honah,  suh;  no, 
suh.  Mis-iuh.  Blease  done  got  elected,  and  I  've 
shaved  him  twenty  times  since,  suh ;  hut  he  's  nuv- 
ver  had  the  honah  from  me,  suh.  I  've  nuvver 
called  him  Governah  yit,  suh;  hut  it  's  heen  Mistuh 
Blease  every  time,  suh!  " 

It  was  when  I  was  recovering  from  this  loyal  as- 
sertion of  the  little  man's  respect  for  the  Common- 
wealth of  his  birth  that  the  stillness  of  the  shop  was 
broken  by  the  excited  voice  of  a  tall,  lantern-jawed 
individual  with  a  distinct  type  of  accent,  who  came 
rushing  in  from  the  street. 

"  Anybody  round  hyah  knows  what  it  costs  to 
beat  up  a  niggah  in  this  hyah  State?  "  he  cried. 

I  gasped,  and  the  barber  paused  languidly  in  his 
ministrations,  holding  his  razor  poised  like  the 
sword  of  Damocles  over  my  head,  while  he  reflected. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  dunno  aigsactly ;  but  the 
las'  time  the  co'hts  decided  the  question  I  think  it 
was  ten  dollahs,  suh." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  intruder,  starting  to  the 
173 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

door.  "  If  it  don't  come  to  no  nioh'n  ten  dollahs, 
I  '11  do  it.  Up  home  in  Ferginia,  where  I  conic 
from,  it  never  costs  moh'n  five ;  but  I  'm  willin'  to  go 
as  high  as  fifteen.  A  coon  down  hyah  at  my 
bohdin'  house  done  give  my  wife  some  back  talk  this 
mornin',  an  if  it  don't  cost  moh'n  fifteen  dollahs  I  '/« 
gwine  to  throw  the  critter  outen  de  winder!  " 


174 


X 

HUMORS  OF  THE  ROAD 

IT  appears  to  be  the  habit  of  every  age  to  la- 
ment its  own  dearth  of  humor,  and  in  our  own 
time  we  have  not  been  exempt  from  the  charge  that 
we  have  no  humorists.  It  is  my  own  candid  opin- 
ion in  respect  to  this  matter  that  we  are  confronted 
by  a  paradox  in  that  we  have  so  many  humorists 
that  in  effect  we  seem  to  have  none ;  so  much  of 
humor  that  in  the  very  surfeit  of  it  its  brilliance 
does  not  appear ;  in  short,  that  because  of  the  trees 
we  cannot  see  the  wood. 

A  period  that  has  produced  a  Dooley,  and  an 
Ade,  and  an  Irvin  Cobb,  and  a  Bert  Leston  Tay- 
lor, is  surely  not  poor  in  humorous  possessions  of 
a  scintillating  character,  whether  we  demand  that 
our  humor  shall  be  a  product  of  pure  fun  or 
of  profoundly  serious  thinking.  J.  Montgomery 
Flagg  in  picture  and  in  text  is  as  much  a  master 
of  effervescent  foolery  as  ever  was  either  John 
175 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Phoenix  or  Artemas  Ward ;  and  in  the  humor  that 
is  designed  to  interpret  life  itself  I  find  an  endless 
store  of  it  in  the  works  of  Wallace  Invin,  of  Mon- 
tague Glass,  of  Miss  Edna  Ferber,  and  of  Mrs. 
Alice  Hegan  Rice;  the  last  two,  by  the  way,  form- 
ing a  complete  refutation  of  the  preposterous  no- 
tion that  women  are  devoid  of  the  sentiment  that 
cheers  but  does  not  inebriate.  And  as  for  the  wits, 
if  Oliver  Herford  were  as  lonely  among  wits  as  he 
is  unique,  I  should  still  feel  that  we  were  rich  be- 
yond measure  in  that  form  of  humor  which  is  for 
the  most  part  intellectual,  of  the  mind  rather  than 
of  the  emotions. 

But  even  if  the  charge  were  true  —  which  of 
course  it  is  not  —  that  we  no  longer  have  any  pur- 
veyors of  humor  of  the  first  class  upon  whom  we 
may  rely  for  a  service  as  regular  as  is  our  supply 
of  milk,  butter,  and  eggs,  we  could  still  lay  the 
flattering  unction  to  our  souls  that  American  life 
is  full  of  humor.  If  any  one  doubts  the  fact,  let 
him  throw  himself  headlong  into  the  Lyceum  Seas 
and  find  out  from  personal  contact.  To  me  it 
seems  to  crop  up  everywhere,  and  whether  I  travel 
north,  south,  east,  or  west  I  find  it  in  great 
abundance  —  humor  conscious,  and  humor  uncon- 
176 


Humors  of  the  Road 

scious ;  humor  of  the  mind,  and  humor  of  the  heart, 
or  pathos ;  humor  of  situation,  and  the  humor  in- 
volving a  mere  play  upon  words ;  humor  in  all  its 
infinitely  varied  qualities,  and  of  a  character  most 
appealing.  Writing  a  short  while  ago  of  an  al- 
leged similar  condition  in  another  field  of  letters, 
that  of  lyric  poetry,  I  permitted  myself  the  fol- 
lowing rather  sentimental  reflections : 

No  singers  great  are  here  to-day? 

Perhaps !     Let  the  indictment  stand. 
I  hear  no  strong  voice  on  the  way. 

No  lilt  from  some  immortal  hand; 
And  yet  as  on  the  silver  mere 

I  float,  and  towering  hillsides  scan. 
Deep  in  my  heart  I  seem  to  hear 

Again  the  merry  pipes  of  Pan. 

No  lyrics  worthy  of  the  name 

Are  sung-  to-day  by  living  men? 
Perhaps !    Yet  naught  is  there  of  shame 

That  we  have  not  old  Herrick's  pen. 
For  as  I  wander  'neath  these  skies 

As  fairly  blue  as  skies  can  be 
And  gaze  into  two  special  eyes. 

All  life  a  lyric  is  to  me. 

With   equal   truth   and   sincerity   I   could   say 
much  the  same  in  respect  to  humor,  and  indeed  I 
might  properly  even  go  further.     I  could  not  per- 
haps say  that  all  Americans,  or  even  many  Amer- 
177 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

icans,  are  lyrists ;  but  I  should  not  fall  far  short 
of  the  mark  were  I  to  say  that  most  Americans 
are  humorists.  In  my  travels  I  come  across  occa- 
sional "  nonconductors,"  as  a  clever  woman  of  my 
acquaintance  once  called  a  certain  social  light 
who  was  as  impervious  to  wit  as  is  the  rhinoceros 
to  the  sting  of  a  gnat;  but  they  are  few  and  far 
between.  For  the  most  part  I  have  found  natural 
born  humorists  on  nearly  every  bush. 

In  a  previous  chapter  I  have  confessed  to  some 
disappointment  in  the  quality  of  the  humor  of  the 
negro  as  I  have  encountered  it  in  Southern  climes ; 
but  there  have  been,  nevertheless,  delightful  rifts 
in  that  cloud.  I  recall  an  aged  son  of  Ethiopia 
who  called  for  me  one  wintry  morning  at  four 
o'clock  to  drive  me  from  my  hotel  at  Greenville, 
South  Carolina,  to  the  railway  station.  He  was 
a  ragged  old  fellow,  and  with  his  snowy,  wool-cov- 
ered head  composed  a  study  in  black  and  white 
worthy  of  the  brush  of  any  of  our  best  limners  of 
character.  He  was  as  communicative  as  he  was 
ragged,  and  confided  to  me  at  the  very  beginning 
of  our  acquaintance  that  he  had  moved  away  from 
Charleston  to  become  a  resident  of  Greenville  be- 
cause down  in  Charleston  he  could  n't  eat  "  pohk  " 
178 


Humors  of  the  Road 

(which  I  took  to  be  pork)  without  having  to  take 
to  his  bed ;  while  in  the  more  sakibrious  climate  of 
Greenville  he  could  "  swaller  a  whole  ham  at  a  set- 
tin',  an'  nebber  hyear  a  woid  from  dat  old  ham 
forebber  after."  His  name,  he  told  me,  was  "  mos' 
gin'rally  George  "  ;  but  he  "  war  n't  biggctty  " 
about  what  people  called  him,  since  he  was  willin' 
to  come  "  ef  dey  on'y  jes'  whistled." 

The  early  morning  hours  were  coid  and  dreary, 
and  I  found  my  fur-lined  horse  blanket,  as  I  have 
come  to  call  my  faithful  winter  overcoat,  none  too 
warm.  Noting  George's  rather  inadequate  pro- 
vision against  the  chill  winds,  I  advised  him  to 
wrap  his  dilapidated  old  lap-robe  about  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"Ah'm  all  right.  Boss,"  he  replied.  "Don't 
yo'  worry  erbout  me.  Dis  yere  old  obercoat  o' 
mine  ain't  much  to  look  at;  but  hit's  on  de  job 
jes'  de  same."  He  gave  a  most  amusing  chuckle. 
"  Yo  'd  ought  to  hyear  mah  fambly  takin'  on  er- 
bout dis  yere  old  obercoat !  "  he  said.  "  Dey  's 
kind  o'  proudy  folks,  an'  dey  don't  like  it.  Dey 
says  hit  don't  look  neat ;  but  Ah  tell  'um  Ah  'm  a 
gwine  t'  wear  hit  jes'  de  same,  neat  er  no  neat  — 
de  wndalitakah,  he  meh  yd'  look  neat!  " 
179 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

From  which  I  deduced  that  George  was  not  only 
a  humorist,  but  in  a  fair  way  to  qualify  as  a  phi- 
losopher as  well. 

Two  days  later  I  happened  to  be  at  Atlanta, 
Georgia,  over  Lincoln's  Birthday,  and  it  pleased 
me  beyond  measure  to  find  printed  on  the  first  page 
of  one  of  the  prominent  daily  newspapers  of  that 
beautiful  city  a  three-column  cut  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln, with  a  suitable  tribute  in  verse  from  one  of 
America's  leading  syndicate  poets.  I  had  myself 
for  reasons  of  taste,  and  in  order  to  give  no  of- 
fense to  my  kindly  hosts  throughout  the  South- 
land, omitted  from  my  discourse  passing  references 
to  certain  great  figures  of  the  Civil  War;  but  on 
seeing  this  very  notable  recognition  by  his  old- 
time  adversaries  of  the  great  virtues  of  our  mar- 
tyred President,  I  hesitated  no  longer  in  respect 
to  these  references,  and  from  that  time  on  re- 
verted to  the  original  form  of  my  talk. 

After  eating  my  breakfast  on  this  morning  of 
the  eleventh  I  dallied  for  awhile  in  the  office 
of  the  massive  Georgian  Terrace  Hotel,  smoking 
my  cigar,  and  glancing  over  the  news  in  the  paper. 
As  I  was  about  to  toss  the  paper  aside  a  fine  old 
type  of  your  Southern  gentleman  seated  himself 
180 


Humors  of  the  Road 

on  the  divan  alongside  of  me,  and  in  the  usual 
courteous  fashion  of  the  country  gave  me  a  morn- 
ing salutation,  I  responded  in  kind,  and  then 
tapping  my  paper  observed: 

"  That  is  a  fine  picture  of  Lincoln." 

"  Yes,  suh,  a  verruh  fine  picture,  suh,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  never  had  the  honah  of  seein'  Mistuh 
Lincoln,  suh;  but  from  all  I  hyear,  suh,  he  must, 
have  resembled  that  picture  pretty  close,  suh." 

"  It  is  a  delight  to  me  to  find  it  in  one  of  your 
Southern  newspapers,"  said  I,  "  especially  in  one 
so  influential  in  the  South  as  this." 

"  Yes,  suh,"  he  answered.  "  It  shows  that  the 
South  is  not  slow  to  recognize  genius,  suh,  wher- 
ever it  is  found,  suh.  But,"  he  added,  "  there  is 
no  occasion  for  surprise,  suh.  We  have  always 
appreciated  Mr.  Lincoln's  greatness  down  hyear, 
and  we  have  admiahed  him,  suh;  though  we  have 
had  reason  to  believe  that  durin'  the  late  onpleas- 
antness,  suh,  he  was  considerable  of  a  Northern  sym- 
pathizah,  suh.^' 

Conspicuous  in  my  memory  for  both  his  con- 
scious wit  and  his  unconscious  humor  is  a  strap- 
ping negro  I  encountered  at  a  junction  down  in 
Alabama  last  winter.  I  was  marooned  there  for 
181 


From  Fillar  to  Post 

five  weary  hours,  receiving  at  the  hands  of  its  na- 
tives as  high  a  courtesy  and  as  fearful  food  as  I 
have  ever  yet  had  presented  to  me.  The  colored 
porter  at  the  hotel  had  a  face  as  black  as  the  ace 
of  spades,  and  as  childlike  and  bland  as  it  was 
black.  He  seemed  to  take  a  tremendous  interest 
in  me,  especially  in  my  fur  overcoat,  which  he  ap- 
peared to  think  must  "  ha  cost  as  much  as  eight 
dollahs,"  and  he  plied  me  with  questibns  as  we 
stood  on  the  railway  platfomi  waiting  for  my 
train  into  Birmingham  for  a  full  hour  that  nearly 
drove  me  to  despair.  I  have  not  space  for  that 
illuminating  interchange  of  ideas  in  all  its  verbal 
fullness ;  but  part  of  it  ran  in  this  wise : 

"  Whar  yo'  come  from.''  " 

"  Maine,"  said  I. 

"Maine.?"   he    repeated.     "What's    Maine?" 

"  Why,  Maine  —  Maine  is  a  State,"  said  I. 
"  And  it 's  a  nice  one  too,"  I  added. 

"  Oh,  yaas,"  he  said.  "  Hit 's  ober  yander, 
ain't  it? "  he  continued,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  sweeping  enough  to  take  in  the  whole  uni- 
verse. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  away  over  yonder.  It 's  down 
East." 

"  Got  any  children  ?  "  he  queried. 
182 


Humors  of  the  Road 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  've  got  two  sons  in  Detroit, 
and  — " 

"  Dee-troit,  eh?  "  he  interrupted.  "  Yaas,  suh. 
Ah  've  heerd  o'  Dee-troit.  Dee-troit 's  a  nice 
State  too  —  a  mighty  nice  State  —  a  nice  State  to 
have  two  sons  at,  Ah  reckon.  So  yo'  was  born  in 
Dee-troit,  was  yuh.''  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  was  n't  born  at  Detroit ;  I 
was  born  at  Yonkers  — " 

"  0-o-oh !  So  yo'  was  born  at  Yonkers,  was 
yuh?  Yaas,  suh  —  Yonkers!  Ah  don't  know 
much  erbout  Yonkers ;  but  Ah  guess  Yonkers  is  a 
nice  State  too,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Well,"  I  laughed,  "  yes  —  Yonkers  is  a  pretty 
nice  State  too  —  what  you  might  call  a  Comatose 
State;  but—" 

"  Yaas,  suh  —  Ah  've  heem  tell  dat  Yonkers 
was  one  o'  dem  cummytoe  States,  an'  Ah  guess 
dat 's  a  pretty  good  kind  ob  a  State  to  be  bohn  in. 
What  yo'  sellin'?  "  This  with  a  hasty  glance  at 
my  suitcase. 

"  Brains,"  said  I. 

"  Lawsy  me !  Sellin'  brains,  eh  ? "  said  he. 
"  Waal,  suh.  Ah  'm  sorry.  Yo'  look  so  kind  o' 
set  up  Ah  thought  yo'  was  a-sellin'  seegyars. 
183 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Yaas,  suli  —  All  'd  hoped  jo'  was."  He  gazed 
wistfully  along  the  shining  rails.  "  Dem  seegyar 
drunimahs  is  mighty  free  wid  deir  samples,  suh," 
he  continued,  "  and  All  been  a  hopin'  yo  'd  be  able 
to  spar'  me  a  han'ful  like  de  res'  ob  'em  docs.  But 
ef  yo  're  dealin'  in  brains,  hit  ain't  likely  yo"  got 
enough  to  gib  any  away." 

I  may  add  that  his  disappointment  was  short- 
lived ;  for  before  we  parted  I  took  him  across  to 
the  general  store  that  fronted  on  the  railroad 
track,  and  by  the  judicious  expenditure  of  a  quar- 
ter bought  him  a  supply  of  his  favorite  brand  large 
enough  to  last  him  a  week.  A  single  one  of  them 
would  have  done  for  me  forever. 

Repartee  has  always  been  a  characteristic  gift 
of  the  American  people,  due  no  doubt  to  a  political 
system  that  turns  almost  every  community  into  a 
debating  society  at  least  once  a  year,  and  some- 
times oftener.  Readiness  of  verbal  retort  has 
thereby  become  an  inheritance  that  grows  richer  in 
the  squandering  of  it.  It  has  been  a  quality  so 
conspicuous  that  it  has  led  a  great  many  people, 
justly  or  othenvise,  to  assert  that  there  are  more 
really  good  jokes  to  be  found  in  the  course  of  a 
year  in  the  columns  of  the  "  Congressional  Rec- 
184 


Humors  of  the  Road 


ord  "  than  in  the  cleverest  of  the  world's  comic 
papers.  However  this  may  be,  I  know  that  one 
of  the  zestful  things  about  a  lecturer's  life  is  the 
jestful  thing  that  lurks  at  his  side  almost  every- 
where he  turns. 

I  have  had  many  proofs  of  this  in  my  own  wan- 
derings ;  some  direct,  and  some  at  long  range.  An 
amusing  instance  of  the  long-range  retort  oc- 
curred some  years  ago  when  I  found  in  my  mail  one 
morning  a  letter  from  a 
gentleman  living  in  Wy- 
oming, an  entire  stran- 
ger to  me,  who  said  that 
he  had  heard  from  a 
friend  that  I  wrote 
after-dinner  speeches 
for  others  as  part  of 
my    professional    work. 

Somehow  or  other  [he  con- 
tinued] I  have  managed  to 
get  a  reputation  as  a  wit 
which  I  don't  deserve;  but 
I  've  got  to  live  up  to  it,  or 
go  under.  Now  it  has  oc- 
curred to  me  that  since  you 
are  in  the  business  of  writ- 
ing after-dinner  speeches  for 
others  you  might  turn  out 
three    crackajacks    for    me. 

185 


"If  yo  're 
dealin'  in 
brains,  hit 
ain't  likely 
yo'  got 
enough  to 
gib  any 
away.' ' 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

So,  without  beating  about  the  bush  any  longer,  I  want  to 
ask  you  what  you  would  charge  me  for  three  ripsnorters 
lasting  about  a  half  an  hour  each,  si)caking  at  tlie  rate  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  words  a  minute,  on  the  subjects  of 
'"Our  Glorious  Comonwealth,"  "The  Star-Spangled  Ban- 
ner," and  "  The  Ladies."  If  your  terms  are  not  too  high, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  give  you  the  order. 

I  cannot  say  whether  my  sensations  upon  read- 
ing this  delightful  communication  were  more  of 
amazement  or  of  amusement,  but  after  due  delib- 
eration I  decided  to  answer  the  letter  in  a  facetious 
spirit. 

I  have  your  esteemed  favor  of  Thursday  last  [I  wrote], 
and  beg  to  say  that  my  regular  charge  for  a  single  speech 
such  as  you  require,  suitable  for  delivery  before  a  mixed 
gathering  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  has  invariably  been 
$1,000  in  the  past;  but  since  your  proposition  is  more  or 
less  on  a  wholesale  basis,  and  business  is  slack,  I  will  make 
an  exception  in  your  case  and  give  you  the  special  terms 
of  $750  per,  f.  o.  b.  I  must  insist,  however,  that  you  re- 
gard these  terms  as  strictly  confidential;  for  it  might  in- 
volve me  in  serious  complications  if  Mr.  Choate,  and  Gen. 
Horace  Porter,  and  Senator  Blank  were  to  learn  that  I 
was  cutting  rates.  They  have  been  among  my  best  cus- 
tomers for  many  years,  and  for  their  own  sakes,  as  well  as 
for  my  own,  I  do  not  wish  to  lose  their  trade. 

This  letter,  which  I  felt  tolerably  sure  would  end 
the  matter  once  and  for  all,  was  mailed,  and  within 
a  week  brought  me  the  following  telegraphic  re- 
sponse : 

186 


Humors  of  the  Road 

If  you  write  Senator  Blank's  speeches,  I  don't  want  one 
from  you  at  any  price. 

It  added  not  a  little  to  the  poignancy  of  this  re- 
tort that  the  telegram  was  sent  "  collect." 

Another  example  of  ready  American  facetious- 
ness  cheered  a  dull  day  for  me  last  year  in  Tennes- 
see. I  was  booked  to  lecture  before  a  charming 
collegiate  community  at  Blue  Mountain,  Missis- 
sippi, and  to  get  there  from  Memphis  was  required 
to  make  a  railway  connection  at  a  curious  little 
town  called  Middleton.  Middleton  was  an  amaz- 
ing concoction  of  piccaninnies,  waste  paper,  inac- 
tive whites,  and  germ  suggestion.  Mr.  Goldberg, 
the  cartoonist,  would  probably  have  referred  to  it 
if  he  had  been  along  with  me  as  the  town  that  put 
the  Junk  in  Junction,  and  upon  its  dilapidated 
railway  platform  I  was  compelled  to  wait  for  six 
mortal  hours,  hungry  and  thirsty,  but  fearing  to 
assuage  the  one  or  quench  the  other  for  fear  of 
internal  complications  beyond  the  reach  of  medical 
science.  If  I  had  never  believed  in  the  hookworm 
before,  I  became  an  abject  coward  in  the  fear  of  it 
then. 

Middleton's  chief  excuse  for  being  appeared  to 
be  that  it  was  the  terminus  of  a  featherbed  affair 
187 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

called  the  New  Orleans,  Mobile  &  Chicago  Rail- 
way, possibly  in  ironic  reference  to  the  fact  that  as 
far  as  I  could  learn  it  did  not  touch  any  point 
within  two  hundred  miles  of  any  one  of  those 
cities.  I  imagine  that  the  mileage  of  the  New  Or- 
leans, Mobile  &  Chicago  Railway,  or  at  least  that 
particular  section  of  it,  was  somewhere  between 
thirty-seven  and  thirty-eight  miles  linear  measure ; 
though  in  the  matter  of  jolting,  careening,  sliding, 
skidding,  and  galumphing  along  generally,  its  emo- 
tional mileage  was  incalculable,  and  the  effect  of 
a  ride  from  iVIiddleton  at  one  end  to  New  Albany 
at  the  other  on  the  liver  sui'passed  that  of  all  the 
great  transcontinental  systems  rolled  into  one. 

From  what  I  could  gather  in  casual  conversa- 
tion with  such  bureaus  of  information  as  were 
available  at  Middleton  its  trains  ran  anywhere 
from  twenty-seven  hours  to  a  year  and  six  months 
late.  I  will  say  on  behalf  of  its  management,  how- 
ever, that  after  trying  it  once  I  concluded  that  it 
was  a  miracle  it  ran  at  all.  Three  or  four  times 
in  the  course  of  my  waiting  I  decided  to  give  up 
the  quest  of  Blue  Mountain  altogether  and  to  re- 
turn to  Memphis  ;  but  hope  has  always  sprung  eter- 
nal in  my  breast,  and  each  resolution  to  quit  the 
188 


Humors  of  the  Road 

game  was  superseded  by  some  kind  of  optimistic 
spiritual  reassurance  that  held  me  true  to  my  ob- 
ligations. 

Ultimately  my  optimism  was  justified,  and  a 
panting  little  combination  of  whirring  wheels  and 
iron  rust  wheezed  into  view,  dragging  a  passenger 
car  of  I  should  say  the  vintage  of  1852,  and  a 
shamefully  big  and  modem  freight  car  after  it.  A 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Locomo- 
tives would  have  had  everybody  connected  with  the 
institution  indicted  then  and  there,  and  I  was 
again  strongly  inclined  to  give  up  my  effort  to  get 
through.  It  seemed  the  very  height  of  inhuman- 
ity to  ask  that  poor  little  engine  to  carry  my  added 
weight.  I  should  have  much  preferred  to  lift  it 
tenderly  in  my  arms  from  the  track,  and  put  it 
into  the  freight  car,  and  pull  the  train  to  Blue 
Mountain  myself;  at  any  rate,  that  seemed  the 
most  reasonable  and  the  only  really  kind  thing  to 
do  at  the  moment. 

Nevertheless  I  boarded  the  train,  having  first  in- 
vested fifty  cents  in  twenty-fours'  worth  of  postal 
card  accident  insurance  at  the  ticket  office  window 
and  mailed  it  to  my  executors.  In  a  couple  of 
hours  we  were  sliding  and  bumping  down  grade 
189 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

tlirougli  an  oozy  morass  over  tracks  ballasted  with 
something  having  the  consistency  of  oatmeal  mush 
liberally  diluted  with  skim  milk.  We  slid  over  the 
first  half-mile  in  about  fifteen  seconds,  thanks  to 
the  weight  of  that  shameless  freight  car  at  the 
rear,  which  pushed  the  rest  of  us  along  at  a  terrific 
rate  of  speed;  but  things  were  averaged  up  when 
we  came  to  an  upgrade,  which,  on  a  rough  estimate, 
I  should  say  we  accomplished  at  the  rate  of  about 
a  mile  a  week.  After  awhile  the  conductor  ap- 
peared —  a  nice,  genial,  kindly  soul,  who  inspired 
me  with  a  confidence  I  had  not  yet  managed  to  ac- 
quire in  the  road  itself.  He  was  so  smiling  and 
serenely  unaffected  by  what  loomed  dark  as  dan- 
gers to  me  that  I  was  soon  feeling  rather  ashamed 
of  myself  for  being  so  full  of  coward  fears,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  in  my  mind  I  was  singing  those 
beautiful  lines  of  Browning: 

The  year's  at  the  spring, 
And  day's  at  the  morn; 
Morning 's   at   seven ; 
The  hillside's  dew-pearled; 
The  lark's   on  tlie   wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God  's  in  his  heaven  — 
All 's  right  with  the  world ! 

And  as  I  was  humming  this  comforting  assur- 
190 


Humors  of  the  Road 


ance  to  myself  there  broke  upon 
the  silence  of  the  car  the  follow- 
ing colloquy : 

"  Howdy,  Sam !  "  this  from 
a  fellow  traveler  sprawled  com- 
fortably in  the  seat  just  back 
of  me. 


r, 


"A  Society 
for  the 
Prevention 
of  Cruelty 
to  Locomo- 
tives would 
have  had 
them  in- 
dicted  then 
and  there." 


"  Howdy,  Jim ! "  this  from  the 
smiling  conductor. 

"  How  long  you  been  with  this    ==^ 
hyere  road,  Sam  ?  "  asked  the  fel- 
low traveler. 

"  Seven  years  last  March,  Jim,"  replied  the  con- 
ductor. 

"  My  Gord,  Sam  I  "   cried  the  fellow  traveler, 
191 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

sitting  up.  "  This  must  he  your  second  trip!  " 
As  for  subtle  humor  of  a  rather  sly  sort,  per- 
haps the  best  example  I  know  of  was  a  little  jest 
perpetrated  at  the  expense  of  one  to  whom  I  shall 
refer  as  my  Only  Muse,  who,  I  rejoice  to  say,  ac- 
companies me  upon  most  of  my  trips.  She  was 
with  me  once  in  Iowa  when  we  were  stranded  at  an 
interesting  little  railway  crossing  for  several 
hours.  The  place  consisted  wholly  of  some  stock- 
yards, a  general  store,  and  a  small  wooden  cot 
which  passed  for  a  hotel,  in  which  we  found  every 
comfort  that  courtesy  could  provide,  even  if  some 
of  the  rather  material  necessities  of  life  were  lack- 
ing. 

We  took  dinner  at  the  hotel.  Seated  opposite 
us  at  table  were  two  farmers,  one  a  handsome  mid- 
dle-aged man,'  and  the  other  a  man  wizened  and 
gray,  with  a  weather-beaten  face,  and  a  kindly  eye ; 
seventy  years  old,  I  imagine,  but  still  as  active  and 
as  interested  in  life  as  a  boy,  as  all  lowans,  irre- 
spective of  foolish  years,  seem  to  be.  One  or  two 
little  courtesies  of  the  table  started  an  acquaint- 
ance, and  naturally  enough  I  was  asked  my  busi- 
ness in  the  State. 

"  Oh,  I  am  out  here  lecturing,"  I  said. 
192 


Humors  of  the  Road 

"  Well,  we  're  farmers,"  said  the  old  man. 

Now  the  Only  Muse  takes  a  great  interest  in 
farming.  She  raises  herself  most  of  the  vegeta- 
bles we  consume  at  home,  and  one  of  my  ambitions 
has  always  been  to  set  her  up  as  the  presiding 
Deity  over  a  real  farm  some  day  when  the  lure  of 
the  platform  no  longer  operates  to  drag  me  off 
into  distant  scenes.  She  had  taken  a  course  of 
lectures  on  farming  at  Columbia  University,  and 
was  enthusiastically  full  of  the  subject  at  the  time. 
Wherefore  it  happened  that  when  my  vis-a-vis  an- 
nounced that  he  was  a  farmer  it  was  the  best  kind 
of  opening  for  the  conversational  powers  of  the 
Only  Muse  —  which  to  say  the  least  are  generally 
adequate  —  and  she  made  the  most  of  it.  She 
talked  of  apples,  corn,  cows,  and  bees.  She  di- 
lated eloquently  upon  the  value  of  persistent  "  cul- 
tivation," and  as  I  sat  listening  admiringly  to  her 
evidently  masterful  handling  of  her  varied  sub- 
jects I  suddenly  became  conscious  of  the  old  man's 
eye  twinkling  across  the  table  at  me,  and  then,  as 
the  Only  Muse  paused  to  catch  her  breath  for  fur- 
ther disquisition,  he  leaned  forward,  and  with 
seemingly  innocent  curiosity  asked: 

"  Which  one  o'  ye  does  the  lecturin'?  " 
193 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

I  trust  that  tlic  outburst  of  merriment  that 
greeted  his  query  conveyed  to  his  mind  with  per- 
fect clarity  the  fact  that  there  are  no  professional 
jealousies  in  my  household. 

At  any  rate  this,  with  the  wonderfully  witty  re- 
sponse of  a  distinguished  railway  president  to  cer- 
tain reflections  I  had  made  in  an  after-dinner 
speech  on  his  road,  appeals  to  me  as  one  of  the 
most  delicately  subtle  bits  of  wit  I  have  encoun- 
tered anywhere  in  real  life  —  which  life  on  the 
road  undoubtedly  is. 

That  the  reader  may  judge  for  himself  if  the 
railway  president  was  wittier  than  the  Iowa  farmer 
or  not,  I  will  close  this  chapter  with  a  short  narra- 
tion of  that  incident. 

The  gentleman  in  question  was  Daniel  Willard, 
president  of  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio,  who  on  an  oc- 
casion in  New  York  listened  courteously  to  some 
facetious  observations  I  had  to  make  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  wonders  of  the  B.  &  0.,  and  two  days 
later  heaped  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head  by  send- 
ing me  by  mail  a  pass  over  his  railroad.  I  was  of 
course  delighted;  but  before  using  it  decided  to 
read  carefully  the  "  conditions  and  limitations 
named  on  the  reverse  side,"  under  which  it  was  is- 
194 


Humors  of  the  Road 

sued.     I  turned  the  treasure  over  and  read  the  fol- 
lowing : 


This  pass  will  be  accepted  for  transporta- 
tion WHEN  ACCOMPANIED  BY  CERTIFI- 
CATE of  Company's  Agent,  attested  by  office- 
stamp,  that  the  bearer  has  presented  evidence 
of  being  HOPELESSLY  INDIGENT,  DES- 
TITUTE, AND  HOMELESS,  or  an  INMATE 
OF  A  CHARITABLE  OR  ELEEMOSYN- 
ARY INSTITUTION,  a  SOLDIER  or 
SAILOR  about  to  enter  either  a  NATIONAL 
HOME  or  "A  HOUSE  BOAT  ON  THE 
STYX,"  or  otherwise  qualified  as  entitled  to 
free  transportation  under  Federal  or  State 
Laws. 


I  do  not  remember  whether  or  not  I  ever 
thanked  Mr.  Willard  for  this  courtesy;  but  if  I 
did  not  I  do  so  now,  and  beg  to  assure  him  that  I 
would  not  exchange  that  little  document  to-day 
for  a  controlling  interest  in  his  road.  I  am  not 
much  of  a  business  man,  but  I  have  a  keen  sense  of 
relative  values. 


195 


XI 

MINE  HOST 

Whoe'er  has  traveled  life  's  dull  round. 
Where'er  his  stages  may  have  been, 

May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found 
The  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn, 

SO  wrote  William  Shenstone,  a  minor  poet  of 
England  in  those  brilliant  days  that  pro- 
duced Addison,  and  Swift,  and  Richard  Steele, 
and  our  own  great  philosopher  and  humorist  Ben- 
jamin Franklin.  I  used  formerly  to  sympathize 
deeply  with  the  poet's  sentiment,  so  charmingly 
expressed,  and  in  a  certain  way  I  do  so  still ;  but 
in  the  last  decade,  involving  so  much  wandering, 
and  so  many  inns  of  varied  degrees  of  excellence, 
I  have  found  that  my  sympathy  with  Shenstone's 
thought  has  undergone  considerable  modification. 
I  should  indeed  sigh  to  think  that  I  had  found  my 
warmest  welcome  at  an  inn ;  but  I  should  hesitate 
to  indorse  any  sentiment  that  would  seem  to  un- 
derestimate the  value  of  the  whole-souled,  genial 
196 


Mine  Host 

character  of  Mine  Host,  as  I  have  encountered 
him  in  all  parts  of  the  United  States. 

While  I  cannot  truthfully  say  that  I  think  we 
Americans  have  a  genius  for  hotel  management, 
such  as  our  cousins  of  Switzerland,  for  instance, 
appear  to  have,  I  can  at  least  say  that  I  believe  we 
have  a  natural  aptitude  for  a  peculiarly  delight- 
ful kind  of  spontaneous  hospitality,  of  which  I 
have  been  for  years  the  grateful  beneficiary.  If  a 
hotel  were  a  thing  of  the  spirit  solely,  I  should  say 
that  the  hostelries  of  the  United  States,  taking 
them  by  and  large,  approximate  perfection;  but 
unfortunately  one  cannot  impart  tenderness  to  a 
steak  with  cordial  smiles,  freshness  to  an  egg  with 
a  twinkling  eye,  or  the  essential  properties  of  cof- 
fee to  a  boiled  bean  with  a  pleasant  word ;  and  if 
in  the  South  and  Middle  West  it  were  possible  to 
sweep  a  room  clean  with  a  welcoming  wave  of  the 
hand,  and  to  set  a  mobilized  entomology  in  full  re- 
treat with  the  fervor  of  an  advance  in  friendliness, 
I  should  not  think  so  often,  perhaps,  upon  the 
possible  duties  of  local  Boards  of  Health  in  re- 
spect to  the  American  hotel  situation. 

I  hasten  to  add,  however,  that  this  situation, 
hopeless  as  it  at  times  appears  to  be,  brings  forci- 
197 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

hly  to  my  mind  that  ancient  chestnut  set  forth  in 

the  sign  in  the  Far  Western  church  — 

DON'T  SHOOT  THE  ORGANIST: 
HE  IS  DOING  THE  BEST  HE  CAN— 

for  I  verily  believe  that  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten 
the  landlords  of  the  nation  are  in  point  of  fact 
doing  the  "  best  they  can,"  and  in  many  instances 
in  the  face  of  heart-breaking  discouragement. 
They  are  themselves  quite  aware  of  their  deficien- 
cies, as  was  once  clearly  established  in  the  inscrip- 
tion I  saw  in  front  of  an  Oklahoma  caravansary  as 
I  passed  through  on  the  Katy-Flyer,  to  the  fol- 
lowing effect: 

THE  SALT  AND  TOOTHPICKS  SERVED  AT  THE 

SAINT  JAMES  ARE  AS  GOOD  AS  THOSE 

AT  ANY  HOTEL  IN  AMERICA 

Our  American  communities,  unfortunately,  have 
not  yet  awakened  to  the  economic  fact  that  a  good 
hotel  is  about  as  valuable  an  asset  as  a  town  can 
have.  An  enterprise  that  might  very  properly, 
and  for  the  general  good,  be  subsidized  by  the 
Board  of  Trade,  or  even  by  the  town  itself,  is  left 
to  private  initiative;  usually  with  barren,  if  not 
bankrupting,  results. 

New  England  is  slowly  awakening  to  this  need, 
198 


Mine  Host 


and  within  the  last  few  years  a  number  of  fine  hos- 
telries  have  been  established,  with  the  backing  of 
real  civic  interest,  and  under  trained  management ; 
but  very  few  of  even  the  most  progressive  Western 
and  Southern  Communities  seem  as  yet  to  have 
taken  so  vital  a  matter  into  consideration.  They 
have  good  will  and  courtesy  enough  among  them 
to  run  a  thousand  highly 
acceptable  caravansaries, 
and  I  have  sometimes 
wished  that  some  of  their 
individual  qualities 
might  in  some  way 
be  engrafted  upon 
our  more  sumptu- 
ous Eastern  ho- 
tels, where  one  is  able 
to  get  anything  one  is 
willing  to  pay  for,  ex- 
cept the  feeling  that 
somebody  somewhere  in 
the  hotel  is  glad  he 
came. 

I   do   not   know   how 
many   thousand  library 

199 


'If  it  were  possible  to  sweep  a 
room  clean  with  a  welcoming 
wave  of  the  hand — " 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

buildings  our  great  Ironmaster  has  caused  to  be 
built  in  this  country  —  and  we  who  write  books 
have  cause  to  be  grateful  to  him  for  having  pro- 
vided such  rarely  beautiful  mausoleums  for  the  final 
interment  of  our  cherished  productions  —  but  1 
have  often  wished  that  his  generous  pursestrings 
had  been  loosened  on  behalf  of  hospitality,  rather 
than  exclusively  for  the  perpetuation  of  current 
fiction  and  books  of  reference  that  nobody  ever 
uses.  Before  the  trusts  are  finally  curbed  I  hope 
that  one  or  two  more  swollen  fortunes  may  be  pro- 
duced, and  that  the  owners  thereof  may  be  in- 
spired to  carry  the  light  of  living  into  communities 
in  need  of  something  of  the  sort,  by  building  hotels 
for  them,  in  which  clean  rooms  suitably  aired,  and 
good  food  properly  cooked,  may  be  provided  for 
those  who  have  to  travel,  and  are  so  constituted 
that  they  cannot  eat  poetry,  nor  sleep  comfort- 
ably between  the  sheets  of  the  lamented  William 
James's  incursions  into  pragmatic  philosophy,  dry 
as  they  unquestionably  are. 

How  next  to  impossible  it  is  for  our  good  land- 
lords in  certain  sections  of  the  land  to  conduct 
their  business  profitably  was  once  brought  to  my 
attention  by  a  little  incident  in  a  town  not  many 
200 


Mine  Host 

leagues  from  Atlanta,  Georgia.  I  found  myself 
seated  one  evening  at  table  opposite  a  traveling 
man  of  most  man^elous  gastronomic  fortitude. 
For  his  supper  he  ordered  cereal  and  cream,  two 
fried  eggs  "  done  on  both  sides,"  some  bacon,  "  a 
little  of  that  steak,"  German  fried  potatoes,  some 
baked  beans,  a  bit  of  kippered  herring,  milk  toast, 
preserved  peaches,  hot  biscuit,  sponge  cake,  and  a 
cup  of  coffee.  After  the  commissariat  had  re- 
sponded faithfully,  and  the  table  had  been  duly 
decorated  with  the  serried  ranks  of  "  bird-bath  " 
dishes  containing  the  bulk  of  the  enumerated  edi- 
bles, a  third  party  arrived,  and  an  old  friendship 
between  himself  and  my  vis-a-vis  was  renewed. 

"  Well,  Tommy,  old  man,  it 's  ninety-seven 
moons  since  I  saw  you  last !  How  's  things  ?  " 
said  the  newcomer. 

"  Oh  —  pretty  good,"  said  my  vis-a-vis  wearily. 
"  Business  is  good  enough ;  but  I  ain't  feelin'  very 
well  myself" 

"What's  the  trouble  —  caught  cold?"  asked 
the  newcomer. 

"  No,"  said  the  other.     "  I  'm  just  feelin'  sort 
o'  mean  —  my  stummick  don't  seem  just  right.     I 
guess  I  been  worki/n'  too  hard." 
201 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


"  You  'd  ought  to  cat  milk  toast,"  said  the  new 
arrival. 

"  Yes,"   said   Tommy.     "  /  've   ordered  some.'' 

At  this  point  the  waitress  came  up  for  the  new- 
comer's order. 

"  I  'm  too  tired  to  order,  Jennie,"  said  he. 
"  Just  you  bring  me  the  same  as  he  has,  and  see 
that  the  buckwheats  are  hot." 

"  Gee!  Buclavheats! "  cried  Tommy.  "  / 
did  n't  know  there  was  buckwheats  —  bring  me  a 
stack  of  'em  too,  Jennie!  " 

And  all  of  this  was  on  the  American  plan,  at  the 


'Cannot  sleep  comfortably  between  the   sheets  of  William 
James's  pragmatic  philosophy,  dry  as  they  are." 

202 


3Iine,  Host 

rate  of  two  dollars  for  three  meals  and  a  night's 
lodging!  I  am  afraid  my  friend  of  the  uncertain 
digestive  organs  belonged  to  the  same  gastronomic 
school  as  a  famous  war  correspondent  I  met  at  my 
club  many  years  ago.  He  was  an  Englishman, 
and  was  delightfully  enthusiastic  about  every- 
thing he  had  found  in  America  except  our  hotels. 

"  And  even  they  would  n't  be  so  bad,"  said  he, 
"  if  it  was  n't  for  that  beastly  American  plan  upon 
which  they  're  run.  Why,  out  in  San  Francisco  I 
actually  had  to  eat  and  eat  and  eat  until  I  was 
positively  ill,  to  get  ahead  of  the  game ! " 

Traveling  Americans  are  inclined  to  criticize 
the  hotels  of  foreign  countries  for  their  lack  of 
bathroom  facilities,  and  I  recall  an  occasion  in 
Rome  some  years  ago  when  I  found  the  act  of  tak- 
ing a  dip  in  the  one  bathroom  the  hotel  provided 
almost  as  formal  a  function  as  a  presentation  at 
the  Vatican,  involving  a  series  of  escorts  from  my 
room  to  the  dark  little  hole  on  an  upper  floor  where 
the  tub  was  kept,  far  greater  in  number  than  those 
involved  in  my  progress  from  the  American  col- 
lege to  the  papal  presence. 

Indeed,  the  only  occasion  I  can  recall  when  in  a 
foreign  country  I  was  able  to  get  a  bath  without 
203 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

encountering  all  sorts  of  obstacles  was  also  in 
Rome,  four  years  ago,  when  I  endeavored  to  order 
a  bottle  of  mineral  water  in  my  choicest  Italian, 
and  got  a  bath  instead,  the  whiskered  male  cham- 
bermaid of  whom  I  ordered  it  having  little  famil- 
iarity with  his  own  tongue  as  "  she  was  spoke  "  by 
an  American. 

But  precisely  similar  conditions  exist  in  this 
country.  An  eminent  singer  in  one  of  his  famous 
poems  lamented  the  difficulty  of  getting  the  Time, 
the  Place,  and  the  Girl  together;  but  if  he  had 
ever  gone  on  the  Chautauqua  circuit  in  this  land 
I  fear  he  would  have  written  also  of  the  well  nigh 
impossible  operation  of  getting  the  Time,  the 
Place,  and  the  Tub  together ;  and  I  may  add  that 
I  wish  a  law  might  be  passed  requiring  hotels  that 
do  provide  bathing  facilities  to  supply  also  at 
least  one  towel  that  is  visible  to  the  naked  eye. 

The  story  of  the  man  who  asked  an  Indiana 
hotel  clerk  to  "  give  "  him  "  a  room  and  a  bath," 
to  be  greeted  by  the  instant  response,  "  We  11 
give  you  the  room;  but  you  7Z  have  to  wash  your- 
self" contains  quite  as  much  truth  as  humor.  I 
had  to  forego  my  dip  in  a  Southern  hotel  on  one 
morning  because  "  the  last  feller  that  took  a  hath 
204 


3Iine  Host 

here  run  off  with  the  key  to  the  door"  and  then 
on  the  following  morning  when  the  bathroom  door 
had  been  forced  open  I  found  the  tub  constructed 
of  tiles,  with  a  lush  growth  of  morning  glory  vines 
sprouting  up  between  them.  Wlien  in  an  Ohio 
hotel  several  years  ago,  having  insisted  upon  a 
room  with  a  bath,  I  found  the  latter  in  a  dark 
cubbyhole  whose  doors  and  windows  had  evidently 
not  been  opened  for  months.  Atmospherically 
speaking,  the  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta  was  a  thing 
of  sweetness  and  light  compared  to  it.  Nearly 
suffocated,  I  struggled  with  the  frosted-glass  win- 
dow at  one  side  of  the  cell  for  several  minutes,  and 
finally  with  a  supreme  effort  got  it  up :  only  to 
find  that  it  opened  on  an  inner  corridor  of  the 
hotel. 

And  be  it  recorded  that  the  heating  facilities  are 
quite  on  a  par  with  these.  The  heating  apparatus 
of  most  hotels  is  either  missing  altogether,  or 
terrifying  in  character.  The  latter  sort  is  espe- 
cially in  evidence  in  the  natural  gas  regions,  where 
that  useful  commodity  is  used  with  an  airy  care- 
lessness that  inspires  dreadful  forebodings, 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  introduction  to 
natural  gas  as  a  heating  proposition.  It  was  in  an 
205 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

historic  edifice  in  Ohio,  which  I  shall  not  name ;  for 
it  has  already  been  sufficiently  advertised  by  its 
"  loving  friends."  Suffice  it  to  say  that  by  some 
strange  oversight  of  Nature  it  still  stands.  To 
get  to  my  room,  in  the  first  place  I  was  compelled 
to  rise  several  flights  in  an  elevator  whose  lift  was 
as  uncertain  as  its  years,  and  then  with  the  aid  of 
a  hallboy  to  thread  an  intricate  maze  of  interlock- 
ing corridors  alongside  of  which  the  Dedalian 
Labyrinth  was  simplicity  itself.  Arrived  finally  in 
the  room  assigned  to  me,  I  found  it  dark,  damp, 
and  cold. 

"  How  about  a  little  heat  here.  Son  .'*  "  said  I, 
appealing  to  the  hallboy. 

"  Sure  !  "  said  he. 

The  boy  faded  into  the  gloom  of  the  far  end  of 
the  room,  leaned  over,  and  tugged  away  vigorously 
for  a  few  moments  on  a  screw  in  the  baseboard, 
and  then  standing  back  about  two  feet  he  began  to 
bombard  the  wall  with  lighted  matches  —  the  kind 
which  light  only  on  the  seat  of  a  bellboy's  trousers. 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  say  how  many  of  these  he  lit 
and  threw  at  the  wall  before  anything  happened. 
It  seemed  to  be  an  appalling  number,  and  consider- 
ing the  manifest  inflammability  of  the  building, 
206 


3Iine  Host 

and  the  height  of  my  room  from  the  ground,  it 
made  me  very  nervous. 

"  What  the  dickens  are  you  doing?  "  said  I. 

But  there  was  neither  time  nor  need  for  his 
answer.  One  well  projected  match  seemed  to  hit 
the  particular  bullseye  he  was  aiming  at.  There 
came  a  boom  and  a  flash,  and  in  a  second  I  saw  a 
half-dozen  sizable  flames  creeping  upward  from  the 
floor  to  a  point  about  breast  high  on  the  wall, 
where  by  some  strange  miracle  the  conflagration 
stopped. 

"  Nacheril  gas ! "  said  the  boy,  with  a  grin,  as 
he  departed. 

It  had  been  my  intention  to  remain  overnight  in 
that  city ;  but  when  I  realized  that  that  same  proc- 
ess was  probably  going  on  in  at  least  a  dozen 
other  apartments,  above,  beside,  and  below  me,  I 
suddenly  decided  to  return  to  New  York  on  the 
night  train.  I  will  take  my  chances  on  the  future 
life;  but  while  I  live,  breathe,  and  have  my  being 
upon  this  terrestrial  orb  I  believe  in  getting  fire 
risks  down  to  their  lowest  reducible  minimum  by 
adopting  a  policy  of  complete  avoidance. 

Our  clever  newspaper  humorists  have  made  a 
good  deal  of  capital  out  of  the  haughty  hotel  clerk 
207 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

with  the  diamond  stud ;  but  I  must  confess  that  I 
have  never  yet  encountered  this  individual  in  the 
wide  swath  of  my  wanderings.  Save  in  one  or  two 
places,  I  have  found  on  the  contrary  a  genial  solici- 
tude for  my  welfare,  wholly  undecorated  as  to 
shirt-front  —  often  indeed  without  the  shirt-front 
itself  —  which  has  more  than  offset  such  shortcom- 
ings as  were  characteristic  of  the  inns  over  whose 
desks  they  presided. 

On  one  occasion  in  Indianapolis  I  encountered 
what  seemed  at  first  to  be  a  heartless  lack  of  ap- 
preciation and  cordial  recognition  on  my  arrival ; 
but  it  was  more  than  compensated  for  in  the  end, 
and  I  should  add  was  rather  the  result  of  a  too 
high  expectation  on  my  own  part  than  the  fault  of 
the  man  behind  the  register.  I  had  long  wished  to 
visit  Indianapolis,  largely  because  of  its  national 
reputation  as  a  literary  center.  A  State  that  has 
produced  so  many  authors  of  high  distinction  as 
have  come  out  of  Indiana,  with  her  General  Lew 
Wallace,  her  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  Charles 
Major,  Meredith  Nicholson,  George  Ade,  Booth 
Tarkington,  and  those  two  purveyors  of  whole- 
some fiction  and  good,  clean  humor,  the  Mc- 
Cutcheon  brothers,  is  entitled  to  some  of  the  lau- 
208 


3Iine  Host 

reled  interest  of  a  literary  Mecca,  and  I  registered 
at  the  Claypool  in  my  boldest  hand,  quietly  and 
confidently  expecting  some  immediate  recognition, 
such  as  a  not  altogether  unknown  worker  on  the 
slopes  of  Parnassus  might  expect  to  receive  on  ar- 
riving at  Olympus. 

The  room  clerk  whisked  the  register  round  and 
studied  the  inscription  for  a  moment.  "  What 's 
that  —  Boggs  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,"  said  I,  my  crest  falling  a  bit,  "  Bangs  — 
John  Ken  — " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  bringing  his  hand  down  heavily 
on  the  bell.  "  Front,  show  this  gentleman  to 
number  three  hundred  and  nine." 

He  tossed  a  key  to  the  bellboy,  which  the  latter 
caught  with  the  dexterity  of  a  Buck  Ewing,  the 
prize  catcher  in  the  ball  games  of  my  young  man- 
hood, and  holding  my  diminished  head  as  high  as 
I  could  I  followed  him  to  the  elevator,  devoutly 
wishing  that  Riley  or  Ade  might  happen  in  and 
fall  upon  my  neck,  and  show  that  low-browed  room 
clerk  a  thing  or  two  he  would  n't  forget  in  a  hurry. 

And  then  came  a  sort  of  amende  honorable. 
Scarcely  had  I  got  settled  in  number  three  hundred 
and  nine  when  a  second  bellboy  arrived,  bearing  a 
209 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

note    addressed    to    "  Mr.    John    Henry    Banks," 
neatly  typewritten,  and  reading  as  follows: 

Dear  Sir. —  If  you  wish  a  table  for  the  display  of  your 
samples  and  a  plug  key  for  the  protection  of  the  same, 
please  apply  at  tlie  office. 

Respectfully,        The  Claypool. 

It  was  a  salutary  experience,  and  in  my  subse- 
quent visits  to  the  Athens  of  America  I  have  ap- 
proached it  in  an  appropriate  spirit  of  humility 
and  respect.  And  philosophically  I  have  tried  to 
comfort  myself  with  the  thought  that  after  all  it 
would  not  be  very  surprising  if  a  scuttleful  of  coal 
arriving  at  Newcastle  were  to  find  its  coming  a 
matter  of  small  importance  to  those  good  people 
who  dig  that  useful  commodity  out  of  the  bowels 
of  the  earth  at  the  rate  of  ten  carloads  a  minute. 
Why  should  a  mere  writer  of  books  arriving  at  In- 
dianapolis expect  to  create  any  special  commotion, 
when  it  is  a  well  known  fact  that  you  could  not 
possibly  heave  a  brick  in  any  direction  in  that 
charming  city  without  hitting  an  author.'* 

I  think  that  for  sheer  originality  in  his  craft,  as 

well  as  for  his  human  interest,  I  must  award  the 

palm  among  innkeepers  I  have  met  to  a  vigorous 

old  fellow  who  either  ran,  or  was  run  by,  a  hotel  I 

210 


Mine  Host 

once  visited  in  South  Dakota.  He  was  known  to 
most  people  as  "  Conk  " :  not  because  of  the  rather 
hard  shell  one  had  to  penetrate  to  get  at  him,  but 
because  it  was  the  first  syllable  of  his  last  name. 

His  hotel  was  a  two-story  brick  structure,  sadly 
in  need  of  a  Noachian  Deluge  for  its  preliminary 
renovation,  and  built  upon  the  pleasing  lines  of 
an  infant  penitentiary.  This  illusion  was  faith- 
fully carried  out  by  the  rooms  within,  which  had 
many  of  the  physical  qualities  of  the  cells  of  com- 
merce. The  hotel  had  a  dining  room;  but  Conk 
had  given  up  serving  meals  therein,  and  had  also 
as  far  as  I  could  observe  abandoned  everything 
else  in  the  way  of  service  as  well. 

My  Muse  and  I  arrived  several  hours  before 
dawn,  and  after  wandering  hand  in  hand  for 
twenty  or  thirty  minutes  along  invisible  highways 
reached  the  edifice.  We  registered,  and  were 
ushered  to  a  pigeonhole  on  the  second  tier  by  a 
large,  yellow-haired  youth,  who  was  trying  to 
keep  awake  and  mop  up  the  office  floor  simultane- 
ously, succeeding  only  indifferently  in  both  opera- 
tions. The  particular  cell  set  apart  for  our  ac- 
commodation was  lit  by  a  half-candlepower  bulb 
with  a  pronounced  flicker,  which  shed  a  dim,  re- 
211 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

liglous  light  upon  a  walled-in  space  about  ten  feet 
square.  In  this  there  was  a  double  bed,  a  nonde- 
script piece  of  furniture  which  suggested  a  col- 
lision between  a  washstand  and  a  bureau,  a  rocking 
chair  that  refused  to  rock,  and  a  cane-bottomed 
arrangement  of  perilous  spindles  that  would  n't  do 
anything  else.  After  I  had  disposed  of  our  two 
suitcases  and  my  typewriting  machine  the  only 
solution  of  another  difficulty  that  immediately 
arose  was  to  leave  our  feet  out  in  the  hall. 

As  soon  as  I  noted  the  rather  limited  character 
of  our  accommodations  I  repaired  below,  to  see  if 
there  was  not  available  something  a  trifle  more 
roomy:  to  find  only  the  satisfaction  involved  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  tow-headed  six-footer  lying 
asleep  on  a  bench  exchanging  dreamy  nothings  with 
his  mop,  which  he  held  hugged  tight  to  his  breast. 
With  persistent  effort  I  might  have  awakened  the 
mop ;  but  the  tow-headed  youth  was  too  far  gone 
into  the  land  of  dreams  to  be  recalled  by  anything 
short  of  a  universal  cataclysm.  I  therefore  crept 
sadly  up  the  stairs  to  our  cell,  and  we  reclined  on 
the  double  bed  until  dawn,  at  which  time  the  merci- 
ful providence  of  the  half-candlepower  bulb  was 
completely  revealed  unto  us ;  for  if  we  had  been 
212 


Mine  Host 

able  to  see  that  bed  in  Its  dim  light  no  power  on 
earth,  not  all  the  mobilized  armies  of  the  world 
could  have  induced  us  to  lie  down  upon  it. 

An  hour  later  we  breakfasted  on  ham  and  eggs 
at  a  stand-up  all-night  lunch  counter  which  we 
located  after  much  wandering,  and  then,  return- 
ing to  the  hotel,  Brother  Conk  in  all  his  muscular 
majesty  dawned  upon  the  horizon  of  my  life.  I 
can  best  describe  him  by  saying  that  whatever  he 
might  do  in  action,  a  camera  fiend  would  have 
found  in  him  a  perfect  model  for  a  snapshot  of  the 
long-looked-for  White  Hope.  He  was  huge  and 
indescribably  red.  His  name  should  have  been 
Rufus,  and  the  hand  of  Esau  was  a  smoothly 
shaven  thing  alongside  of  the  Conkian  fist.  He 
had  a  penetrating,  yet  rolling  eye  that  would  have 
subjugated  a  Kaiser  with  a  single  glance.  He  was 
scrutinizing  his  fingernails  as  we  entered  his  pres- 
ence, and  in  view  of  my  supreme  ambition  to  re- 
main a  hero  always  in  the  eyes  of  my  Muse  I  saw 
her  safely  deposited  in  our  hermetically  sealed  re- 
ceiving vault  above  before  venturing  to  address  the 
gentleman.  This  done,  I  started  in  to  pay  my 
respects  to  Mine  Host. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  could  let  us  have  a  larger 
213 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

room,"  said  I  tentatively,  mj  words  coming  with  a 
husky  falter. 

"  I  dunno  what  room  ya  got,"  was  the  gruff  re- 
sponse, one  of  the  rolling  eyes  settling  full  upon 
both  of  mine. 

"  We  're  in  nun-number  thirty-two,"  I  ventured 
meekly. 

"  Well,  thirty-three  's  an  inch  and  a  half  wider," 
said  he,  biting  off  a  hang  nail.  "  Ya  can  move 
inta  that  if  ya  wanta." 

It  hardly  seemed  worth  while,  and  considering 
that  in  respect  to  matters  other  than  its  size,  or 
lack  of  it,  we  already  knew  the  worst  as  to  thirty- 
two,  we  left  thirty-three  unvisited  on  the  principle 
that 

—  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 

There  were  enough  wings  loose  in  number  thirty- 
two  to  enable  us  to  fly  anywhere  on  the  face  of  the 
earth;  but  we  decided  not  to  avail  ourselves  of 
them. 

*'  Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  I.  "  Sufferance 
is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe." 

And  the  Only  Muse  merely  laughed,  and  with 
feminine  exaggeration  comforted  me  with  the  as- 


3Iine  Host 

surance  that  "  it  might  be  worse."  I  suppose  It 
might  have  been ;  though  I  don't  know  how.  Any- 
how I  sat  down  on  the  rockless  rocker,  drew  an 
overdraft  on  the  bank  of  cheer,  and  proceeded  to 
read  aloud  that  fine  story  of  Fiona  Macleod's  about 
the  good  old  North  Countryman  who  every  morn- 
ing walked  out  upon  his  breezy  headland  and 
"  took  off  his  hat  to  the  beauty  of  the  world." 

Later  in  the  day  the  chairman  of  the  lecture 
committee  called  to  pay  his  respects,  and  in  the 
course  of  our  conversation  I  told  him  of  my  ex- 
perience with  Conk. 

"  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily,"  said  he, 
laughing.  "  You  came  off  rather  better  than  an 
exchange  professor  from  Germany  who  came  out 
here  last  year  to  give  a  course  of  lectures  at 
our  agricultural  college.  He  asked  Conk  in  his 
pleasant  German  way  for  more  spacious  quarters, 
and  Conk's  answer  was,  *  Sure  I  can  give  ya  more 
space.''  And  taking  the  professor's  suitcase  in 
one  hand,  and  the  professor  in  the  other,  he  rushed 
them  both  to  the  front  door,  threw  the  suitcase 
out  into  the  street,  and,  pushing  the  professor 
gently  out  after  it,  remarked,  '  There  —  /  guess 
there  's  room  enough  for  ya  out  there.^  " 
215 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Whether  the  chairman  was  a  mind  reader  or  not 
I  do  not  know ;  but  I  do  know  that  in  response  to 
my  telepathic  calls  for  help  he  turned  to  the  Only 
Muse  and  suggested  that  in  view  of  certain  possi- 
bilities which  might  incapacitate  me  from  filling 
my  engagement  at  the  lecture  hall  that  night  we 
had  much  better  move  over  to  his  house,  where  we 
would  find  a  warm  welcome. 

"  That 's  fine ! "  said  I,  rising  with  alacrity. 
"  Just  you  take  her  over  with  you  now,  and  I  '11  see 
Conk,  and  pay  my  bill,  and  come  over  as  soon  as 
I  can  with  our  luggage." 

The  plan  was  promptly  carried  out,  and  after 
seeing  the  Only  Muse  safely  on  her  way  to  other 
quarters  I  went  to  number  thirty-two,  gathered  up 
our  traps,  and  with  trepidation  in  my  soul  ap- 
proached the  landlord.  This  time  I  found  him 
sitting  in  the  office,  before  the  window,  staring 
Nature  out  of  countenance. 

"Well,  Mr.  Landlord,"  I  said,  as  affably  as  I 
knew  how,  "I  —  I  've  come  to  —  to  settle  up.  It 
seems  we  were  expected  to  stay  with  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Soandso.  We  --'  er  —  we  did  n't  know  it  when 
we  arrived  "—  and  I ' —  I  'm  sorry  to  leave  you  ; 
but  —  er  —  but  of  course  — " 
216 


3Iine  Host 

"  TJianl-  God! "  the  landlord  returned  ex- 
plosively, rising  and  seizing  my  hand  in  a  viselike 
grip  that  even  to  remember  two  years  later  causes 
me  anguish.  "  That 's  the  first  good  news  I  've 
had  to-day.  I  been  running  this  blankety  blank 
blank  joint  for  seven  years  now,  and  it 's  cost  me 
over  thirty  thousand  dollars  already,  and  every 
time  I  see  a  blinkety  blank  blank  boarder  come  in 
through  that  front  door  it  makes  me  so  dashed  sick 
that  I  feel  like  nailin'  the  blankety  blank  door  up 
so  tight  old  Beelzybub  himself  'd  have  to  come 
down  through  the  chimbley  to  get  inside ! " 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Conk  and  I  parted 
company  at  the  beginning  of  what  I  am  inclined  to 
think  might  have  ripened  into  a  lifelong  friend- 
ship. I  had  got  his  point  of  view!  Strange  as 
his  conception  of  hospitality  seemed  superficially 
to  be,  there  was  reason  in  him,  and  I  began  to  per- 
ceive that  he  had  some  mighty  good  points. 
Frankness  was  one  of  them,  and  gratitude,  and 
one  of  the  incidents  of  his  career  as  narrated  to 
me  later  by  one  of  his  neighbors  was  convincing 
proof  that,  in  sporting  parlance,  the  old  fellow 
was  a  good  loser. 

It  seems  that  a  certain  traveling  man  of  great 
217 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

nerve  force  stopped  overnight  some  years  ago  with 
Conk,  probably  occupying  number  thirty-two.  It 
was  a  fearfully  hot  night,  and  the  room  became 
unbearably  stuffy.  For  a  long  time  the  suffering 
guest  strove  to  open  the  window,  but  without  re- 
sults. Prayer,  condemnation,  muscular  force,  all 
alike  were  powerless  to  move  it.  Finally  in  des- 
peration the  unhappy  visitor  threw  on  his  dressing 
robe,  and  stalked  down  to  the  office  to  make  com- 
plaint. 

"  It 's  hotter  than  Tophet  in  that  room  of 
mine,"  he  protested,  "  and  I  've  been  monkeying 
with  that  dodgasted  window  of  yours  for  the  last 
hour,  and  the  dinged  thing  won't  give  an  inch !  " 

"  Well,  if  ya  can't  move  it,  why  in  Dothan  dont- 
cha  kick  it  out?  "  retorted  Conk  coldly. 

"  All  right,  I  will,"  said  the  guest,  returning  to 
the  furnace  above. 

And  he  did.  Glass,  frame,  and  sash  were 
kicked  with  all  the  power  of  an  angry  man  into  a 
mass  of  wreckage  never  again  to  be  redeemed. 

"  Well,"  said  the  guest  the  following  morning, 
as  he  started  to  leave  for  the  station,  "  what 's  the 
tax  ?     What  do  I  owe  you  ?  " 

*'  Not  a  blamed  cent!  "  gruff ed  Conk.  "  You  're 
218 


Mine  Host 

the  first  son  of  a  sea  cook  that 's  ever  had  the 
nerve  to  call  my  bluff,  and  bij  Henry  you  don't 
pay  a  nickel  into  my  till  except  over  my  dead 
body!  " 

If  I  have  seemed  in  any  wise  severe  In  my  treat- 
ment of  Conk  in  this  tribute  to  his  memory,  I  am 
sorry.  The  material  facts  could  hardly  be  glossed 
over ;  but  as  for  the  man  himself  I  am  truly  glad 
to  have  met  him.  I  would  n't  have  missed  him  for 
a  farm.  He  was  not  much  of  a  Chesterfield;  but 
he  had  his  own  ways,  and  they  gave  me  a  thrill. 
The  joyous,  almost  grateful  courtesy  with  which 
he  put  me  out  of  his  front  door  was  a  thing  to  re- 
member, and  I  in  turn  am  everlastingly  grateful  to 
him  for  letting  me  out  on  the  ground  floor  instead 
of  seizing  me  by  the  left  leg  and  dragging  me  up 
through  the  skylight,  and  throwing  me  off^  the  roof. 
He  could  have  done  it  easily,  and  I  am  sure  it  was 
only  the  intrinsic,  if  considerably  latent,  nobility 
of  his  soul  that  restrained  the  impulse  to  do  so 
that  I  am  confident  he  felt. 


219 


XII 

PERILS  OF  THE  PLATFORM 

'"\  7"  OURS  must  be  an  extra  hazardous  occupa- 
M.      tion,"  said  a  chance  acquaintance  on  a  little 
trip  through  Ohio  last  year.     "  Do  you  carry  any 
insurance?  " 

*'  Yes,"  said  I.  "  I  have  an  excellent  accident 
insurance  policy,  and  it  is  a  great  comfort.  Some- 
times on  dark  nights  when  I  am  suddenly 
awakened  by  some  catastrophic  quivering  of  my 
berth,  as  if  a  young  earthquake  had  come  aboard, 
and  realize  that  the  train  has  probably  left  the 
track,  and  is  traveling  ahead  at  a  mile-a-minute 
clip  over  the  rocky  bed  of  some  mountain  stream, 
it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  foot  up  the  sum  total 
of  the  affluence  that  will  be  mine  if  we  fail  to  strike 
a  switch  somewhere  that  will  get  us  back  on  the 
main  line  again." 

"  Affluence  is  good,"  said  he ;  "  but  it  won't  be 
yours  —  not  if  you  break  your  neck." 
220 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

"  Oh,  I  never  think  of  that,"  said  I.  "  I  think 
only  of  the  possibility  of  injuries,  and  from  that 
point  of  view  the  accident  insurance  policy  is  a 
joy  forever.  It  makes  you  think  so  well  of  your- 
self, and  as  you  lie  off  in  your  berth  figuring  on 
two  legs  and  a  couple  of  arms  at  five  thousand 
dollars  apiece,  twenty  toes  and  fingers  at  two 
hundred  and  fifty  a  digit,  with  your  neck  valued  at 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  you  begin  to  feel 
that  a  man  is  n't  such  a  worthless  creature  after 
all.     I  suppose  even  my  nose  is  worth  something." 

"Great  Scott!"  he  ejaculated.  "Do  toes  and 
fingers  come  as  high  as  that  ?  " 

"  They  do,"  said  I.  "  I  've  carried  a  policy 
assuring  me  a  market  for  them  at  that  rate  for  the 
last  five  years,  and  if  I  lose  them  in  a  railway 
smash-up,  in  a  taxicab,  in  a  trolley,  or  in  a  public 
elevator  somewhere,  the  quotation  doubles.  Under 
certain  contingencies  my  fingers  and  toes  have  a 
market  value  of  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  Heavens !  "  he  cried.  "  Have  you  ever  had 
any  luck?  " 

From  his  point  of  view  I  presume  I  have  not  had 
any  "  luck  " ;  but  I  am  content,  satisfied,  and  even 
grateful  that  so  far  the  exigencies  of  travel  have 
221 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

not  required  me  to  collect  anything  on  my  policy, 
or  compelled  me  to  sacrifice  any  of  my  digital  col- 
lateral even  at  what  seem  to  be  par  or  premium 
prices. 

But  my  friend  was  not  altogether  wrong  in  re- 
garding the  occupation  of  an  itinerant  lyceumite 
as  a  hazardous  one.  If  one  were  to  conjure  up  a 
picture  of  the  gods  of  evil  shooting  darts  at  human 
targets,  one  might  think  that,  a  moving  object 
being  harder  to  hit  than  one  that  is  definitely 
fixed,  the  former  would  prove  a  better  risk  than 
the  latter;  but  it  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  life 
that  this  is  not  the  case,  unless  of  course  the  snip- 
ing fates  are  better  sharpshooters  than  profes- 
sional artillerists. 

The  possibilities  of  accident  to  one  who  is  con- 
stantly moving  from  pillar  to  post  on  American 
railways,  many  of  them  starved  to  death  in  the 
name  of  Progress,  and  unable  to  maintain  an 
equipment  that  is  even  moderately  safe ;  on  steam- 
boat lines  many  of  whose  vessels  are  little  more 
than  resin-soaked  tinderboxes,  over-crowded  with 
pipe  and  cigarette  smokers,  and  speeding  through 
fog-bound  waters  at  night  as  though  the  Evil  One 
himself  were  just  astern  in  pursuit  of  the  Captain ; 
222 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

sleeping  in  hotels  constructed  of  Georgia  pine,  on 
mattresses  stuffed  with  excelsior,  with  matches 
that,  like  flies,  will  light  on  anything  in  sight, 
strewn  about  on  every  side, —  well,  to  commute 
this  sentence,  the  possibilities  of  accident  to  such 
a  one  are  of  such  a  sort  that  "  age  cannot  wither 
nor  custom  stale  their  infinite  variety." 

And  as  for  the  lecture  halls,  one  now  and  then 
encounters  a  place  where  it  seems  as  though  it 
were  a  vain-glorious  tempting  of  fate  to  enter  it. 
I  recall  one  marvelous  hall  in  one  of  the  most  cul- 
tured sections  of  New  England,  in  a  town  not  more 
than  seventy-five  miles  from  Boston,  the  home  of 
one  of  America's  most  famous  schools,  and  the 
capital  of  a  State  that  has  produced  men  of 
worldwide  eminence,  which  in  any  Court  of  Com- 
monsense  would  have  been  indicted  as  a  menace 
to  the  public  welfare.  It  was  reached  by  a  climb 
of  two  flights  of  stairs,  the  first  scarcely  wide 
enough  for  two  people  to  walk  up  abreast,  and 
the  second  rising  from  the  end  of  a  dimly  lighted 
corridor  up  six  steps  to  a  landing  whence  ran  on 
each  side  two  other  sections  of  four  or  five  steps 
each  to  a  second  landing,  with  still  a  third  turn 
and  another  climb  before  the  auditorium  floor  was 
223 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

reached;  and  all  this  in  an  ordinary  brick  build- 
ing, erected  long  before  fireproof  construction  was 
even  thought  of. 

My  lecture  in  this  architectural  device  of  Beelze- 
bub was  delivered  before  an  audience  of  four 
hundred  people,  just  one  week  after  the  terrible 
disaster  at  Boyerstown,  Pennsylvania,  in  which  I 
know  not  how  many  lives  were  lost  in  a  fire  started 
by  the  explosion  of  a  cinematograph  machine.  As 
I  stepped  upon  the  stage  I  inquired  of  my  escort 
if  there  were  any  fire  escapes  on  the  building,  and 
was  informed  that  a  huge  iron  door  at  the  rear  of 
the  stage  opened  upon  one.  I  was  moderately 
relieved  until  I  tried  to  open  the  iron  door,  only 
to  find  it  locked  —  and  the  janitor  had  left  the  key 
at  home!  I  may  add  that  if  my  memory  serves  me 
correctly  —  and  it  does  —  this  ingeniously  de- 
signed atrocity  was  pleasantly  and  appropriately 
known  as  Phenix  Hall.     Absit  omen! 

In  the  main,  however,  the  lecture  halls  of 
America  are  rather  fine  affairs.  In  the  State  of 
New  York  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mississippi 
River  I  have  found  splendid  auditoriums,  acousti- 
cally perfect,  well  ventilated,  and  as  nearly  safe  as 
human  ingenuity  can  make  them.  The  high 
224 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

schools  of  New  York  and  Massachusetts,  and  the 
flourishing  educational  institutions  of  the  West, 
have  set  a  pace  which  other  communities  would  do 
well  to  follow:  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  the 
itinerant  platformist  as  for  the  "  safety,  honor, 
and  welfare "  of  their  own  sons  and  daughters. 
In  Houston,  Texas,  where  there  is  a  municipally 
owned  free  lecture  and  music  course  on  Sunday 
afternoons,  beginning  in  October  and  running 
through  to  May,  is  one  of  the  finest  auditoriums  I 
have  ever  seen  anywhere.  It  seats  in  comfort  and 
safety  an  audience  of  eight  thousand,  and  neither 
New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  nor  even  Chicago, 
has  anything  comparable  to  it. 

I  have  indeed  had  luck  according  to  my  own 
conception  of  it,  on  trains  traveled  on,  and  in  re- 
spect to  trains  missed  as  well.  I  have  been  in  two 
railway  smash-ups,  in  the  first  of  which  the  car 
behind  mine  was  overturned  and  reduced  to  kin- 
dling in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  miraculously 
without  serious  injury  to  any  one ;  and  in  the  other 
the  engine  directly  in  front  of  the  car  in  which  I 
was  sitting,  having  endeavored  to  jump  a  frozen 
switch,  succeeded  only  in  landing  upon  its  own 
back,  leaving  my  car  teetering  to  and  fro  for 
225 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

a  moment  as  if  undecided  whether  to  roll  down 
an  embankment,  or  to  remain  poised  on  its  off- 
side wheels  like  a  ballet  girl  balanced  upon  one 
tangoing-  toe.  If  the  gentleman  who  sat  beside 
me  on  that  occasion  had  shifted  his  chewing  gum 
to  the  other  side,  I  think  we  should  have  gone 
plunging  down  that  embankment  into  the  river ; 
but  fortunately  he  was  too  paralyzed  with  fear 
even  to  do  that,  and  we  remained  fixed,  safe  as  ever 
was  the  intrepid  Blondin  when  he  essayed  to  walk 
across  Niagara  Falls  on  his  slack  wire. 

As  for  the  trains  missed,  it  was  only  an  over- 
prolonged  discussion  of  the  mysteries  of  golf  be- 
tween myself  and  a  past-master  of  putting  at 
Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  which  caused  me  to  miss 
by  ten  seconds  a  section  of  the  Portland  Express 
to  New  York  that  five  hours  later  landed  in  a  ditch 
somewhere  in  Connecticut. 

In  respect  to  perils  by  water  there  are  the 
steamboat  perils,  and  those  more  insidious  dangers 
that  come  from  too  free  indulgence  in  the  only 
kind  of  beverage  the  wise  platformist  dares  adopt 
as  a  steady  tipple.  These  latter  perils  I  have 
tried  to  reduce  to  a  minimum  by  having  a  billion 
and  a  half  typhus  germs  mobilized  within  to  patrol 
226 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

my  system,  so  that  any  skulking  bacilli  seeking  to 
spread  revolutionary  Ideas  in  my  midst,  and  galn- 


"If  he  had  shifted  his  chewing  gum  to  the  other 
side,    we    should    have    plunged    into    the    river." 

ing  admittance  thereto  through  my  taste  for  Ice 
water,  will  be  seized  and  duly  throttled  ere  they 
have  time  to  lay  the  foundation  for  an  effective 
propaganda. 

227 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

But  there  is  no  inoculation  against  the  perils  of 
steamboats ;  although  I  have  been  in  imminent 
danger  only  once  in  this  way,  and  in  its  ultimate 
results  even  that  was  far  more  amusing  than  terri- 
fying. I  was  on  my  way  to  Boston  by  the  Fall 
River  boat  when  the  incident  occurred.  The  night 
was  foggy,  and  I  retired  early.  The  faithful  craft 
kept  steadily  on  her  way,  feeling  her  path  through 
the  dark  waters  of  the  sound.  I  slept  only  fitfully 
until  midnight,  when  weary  Nature  at  last  asserted 
herself,  and  I  fell  into  a  profound  slumber.  At 
four  in  the  morning,  however,  I  was  awakened 
rudely  by  a  fierce  shriek  of  the  whistle,  a  seem- 
ingly quick  reversal  of  the  engines,  a  very  decided 
shock  as  of  an  impact  with  some  heavy  body, 
followed  by  a  grinding  sound,  and  much  shout- 
ing. 

I  sprang  from  my  berth,  and  glancing  out  of  the 
window  could  see  nothing  but  grimly  gray  fog.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  jump  into  my  shoes 
and  bathrobe,  and  go  speeding  out  into  the  main 
saloon. 

"Any  danger.  Porter?"  I  inquired  of  a  wide- 
awake gentleman  of  color,  who  was  leaning  over  the 
stair-railing. 

228 


Petils  of  the  Platform 

"  Not  unless  yo^  goes  asho\  Kuhnnel,''  he  replied 
with  a  grin.     "  Dis  is  Newport." 

But  there  are  perils  other  than  these  which  must 
be  taken  into  account  in  reckoning  up  the  hazards 
of  the  profession  —  or  perhaps  in  view  of  the  eter- 
nity of  the  chase  it  were  better  called  a  pursuit. 
They  include  exposure  to  almost  every  kind  of 
catastrophe  mentioned  in  the  Litany,  from  battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death,  through  hunger  and 
thirst,  to  the  tapering  point  of  mere  necessity  and 
tribulation. 

I  have  nearly  starved  with  teeming  granaries  on 
every  side  of  me.  Once  in  a  delightful  mid-New 
York  community  which  I  have  since  revisited  and 
come  to  hold  in  affection,  I  found  myself  after  a 
long,  tedious,  and  foodless  journey  at  a  hotel  where 
the  table  was  frankly  impossible.  I  arrived  late, 
and  out  of  an  ample  bill  of  fare  there  was  nothing 
left  but  a  few  scraps  of  preserved  fish,  and  not  very 
well  preserved  at  that.  If  fish  could  be  personified, 
this  particular  bit  of  piscatorial  cussedness  might 
have  passed  as  the  Rip  Van  Winkle  of  the  Sea,  so 
long  had  it  evidently  been  since  it  left  its  home  in 
the  depths.  The  merest  glance  at  it  filled  the  eye 
with  visions  of  serried  ranks  of  ptomaines,  armed 
229 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

cap-a-pic  for  trouble.  It  waved  the  red  flag  of 
digestive  anarchy  from  the  end  of  every  bone  and 
fin,  and  fortunately  for  nie  the  very  pungency  of 
its  aroma  took  care  of  my  hunger  for  the  moment. 
One  sniff  appeased  my  appetite  for  any  kind  of 
food. 

Later,  when  the  chairman  of  the  committee 
called  and  invited  me  to  take  a  drive  with  him 
about  the  town,  even  though  I  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  for  nearly  twelve  hours,  I  accepted.  At  the 
end  of  our  drive  we  stopped  at  the  chairman's 
home,  a  delightfully  comfortable,  newly  built 
house,  which  he  had  designed  himself  and  of  which 
he  was  justly  proud.  As  we  entered  his  dining 
room  a  natural  association  of  ideas  caused  my  ap- 
petite to  return  with  renewed  vigor,  and  I  thought 
I  saw  a  chance  for  at  least  one  good  meal  that 
day. 

"  By  Jove,  Doctor ! "  said  I,  "  what  a  pretty 
room  this  is !  "  And  then  I  added,  with  all  the 
pathos  I  could  put  into  my  voice,  "  You  don't 
know  what  a  joy  it  is  to  get  a  glimpse  now  and 
then  of  a  real  home  dining  room  after  eating  day 
after  day  in  some  of  these  fearful  country  hotels. 
I  don't  want  to  seem  unduly  critical,  but  really  I 
^30 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

got  the  worst  dinner  at  the  BHthers  House  to-day 
that  I  've  ever  had."     And  I  stood  expectant. 

"  Well,"  he  said  reflectively,  "  you  'II  get  a 
worse  supper!  " 

And  lo,  it  was  so. 

A  similarly  distressing  moment  one  morning 
out  in  Montana  once  brought  me  a  more  satisfac- 
tory tribute.  My  train  was  hours  late,  and  no 
preparations  had  been  made  by  the  usually  con- 
siderate management  of  the  Northern  Pacific  Rail- 
road for  the  refreshment  of  the  inner  man.  There 
was  neither  diner  nor  buffet  on  the  train,  and  as 
the  morning  wore  on  toward  noon  I  became  fam- 
ished to  the  extent  of  positive  pain  and  general 
giddiness.  To  my  supreme  relief,  however,  along 
about  half-past  eleven  o'clock  the  train  drew  into 
the  little  station  of  Livingston,  where  connections 
are  made  by  travelers  to  the  Yellowstone.  As  we 
drew  slowly  in  the  welcome  sign  of  "  LUNCH 
ROOM  "  greeted  my  vision ;  but  the  train  did  not 
stop  until  we  had  passed  the  sign  by  at  least  a 
hundred  yards.  Finally  when  we  came  to  a  stand- 
still I  rushed  to  the  rear  platform  of  the  train, 
and  was  about  to  jump  off  when  the  conductor 
intervened. 

231 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  asked. 

"  For  food,"  said  I.  "  I  'm  nearly  dead  for  a 
cup  of  coffee." 

"  We  're  not  going  to  stop  any  time,"  said  he, 
with  a  glance  at  his  watch.  "  We  're  seven  hours 
late  as  it  is." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Conductor ! "  said  I.  "  Five 
minutes  more  is  n't  going  to  hurt  anybody  — " 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  go  ahead.  Only  when 
you  hear  the  whistle  blow  don't  lose  a  minute, 
hungry  or  no  hungry." 

With  that  understanding  I  sped  to  the  lunch 
counter,  and  in  a  few  moments  had  a  roll  and  a 
steaming  cup  of  coffee  before  me;  but,  alas  for  all 
human  expectations!  the  coffee  was  so  fearfully 
hot  nothing  but  a  salamander  could  have  hoped 
to  drink  it  with  safety,  and  I  had  hardly  taken  one 
scalding  sip  of  it  when  the  whistle  blew  sharply. 
There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  I  did  it.  I 
poured  the  coffee  into  my  saucer  and  drained  as 
much  as  I  could  of  it  from  that,  thrust  the  roll 
into  my  pocket,  and  darted  after  the  train,  which 
had  already  begun  to  move  slowly,  conscious  all 
the  while  of  the  soft  thud  of  pattering  feet,  like 
those  of  the  white  rabbit  in  "  Alice  in  Wonder- 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

land,"  behind  uie.  I  caught  the  train,  seizing  the 
rear  platfomi  rail  with  one  hand,  and  when  swing- 
ing myself  on  board  was  projected  almost  flat  on 
my  face  by  another  passenger  who  suddenly  devel- 
oped like  an  infant  battering  ram  at  the  rear.  He 
was  a  little  man,  and  his  breath  came  in  appro- 
priate pants.  Both  completely  winded,  we  gazed 
into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  Bub-beg  pardon,"  he  gasped.  "  I  dud-did  n't 
mean  to  bub-bump  into  you.  Very  grateful  to 
you  —  yuh  —  you  saved  my  life !  " 

"  Saved  your  life.?  "  said  I.     "  How  so?  " 

*'  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  was  nearly  gone  for  want 
of  my  coffee,  and  the  stuff  was  so  infernally  hot  I 
could  n't  drink  it,  and  then  when  I  saw  you  pour- 
ing yours  out  into  your  saucer,  I  says  to  myself, 
'  Well,  if  a  swell-lookin^  guy  like  that  kvn  do  that, 
I  kin, —  «7z'  b'gosh,  I  did!  " 

A  not  infrequent  source  of  terror  to  the  plat- 
form speaker,  if  not  a  real  peril,  is  the  small  boy 
one  encounters  en  route,  singly  and  alone  or  in 
groups.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I  have  always  de- 
lighted in  him,  and  so  far,  despite  the  possibilities, 
none  of  my  contacts  with  him  has  resulted  disas- 
trously ;  but,  while  nobody  ever  need  mark  him 
233 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"FRAGILE,"  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  he 
should  be  handled  with  care,  and  kept  right  side 
up  if  possible,  for  the  sake  of  the  general  comfort. 

One  of  these  youngsters  once  gave  me  a  supreme 
example  of  intrinsic  honesty  which  I  shall  never 
forget.  I  met  him  on  the  evening  of  my  lecture 
in  the  town  of  Everett,  Massachusetts.  I  had 
somehow  got  the  notion  that  Everett  was  farther 
afield  from  Boston  than  it  really  is,  and  starting 
early  I  arrived  at  the  high  school  hall  a  full  hour 
before  the  advertised  time.  The  building  was 
dark,  and  every  door  was  locked ;  so  that  for  some 
thirty  or  forty  minutes  I  was  compelled  to  pace 
the  sidewalk  in  front  of  it,  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
somebody  who  could  let  me  in.  After  several 
turns  up  and  down  the  street  I  was  accosted  by  a 
bright-faced  little  urchin  who  held  a  ticket  for  my 
lecture  in  his  hand. 

"  Want  to  buy  a  ticket  for  to-night's  lecture, 
mister.^  "  said  he. 

"  No,  son,"  said  I.  "  I  've  heard  this  lecture 
several  times  already,  and  I  would  n't  go  through 
it  again  for  seven  dollars." 

"Gee!"   he   ejaculated.     " //   it's   as   had   as 
that,  I  guess  I  'd  better  tear  this  up.''' 
234 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

And  he  destroyed  the  ticket  on  which  he  had 
doubtless  expected  to  realize  much  soda-water 
money  before  my  very  eyes,  and  went  whistling 
along  upon  his  honest  Httle  way. 

Perhaps  this  little  lad  does  not  come  properly 
under  the  head  of  Hazards ;  but  in  one  of  the 
larger  cities  of  Arkansas  I  once  came  upon  a  group 
of  boys  who  did,  and  they  kept  me  in  a  state  of 
trepidation  for  a  goodly  part  of  the  evening.  It 
happened  that  simultaneously  with  my  arrival  in 
town  there  arrived  also  a  snowstorm  that  for  that 
section  of  the  country  was  a  heavy  one.  Heavy 
or  light,  it  brought  with  it  enough  snow  to  provide 
these  forty-odd  youngsters  with  the  kind  of  oc- 
cupation that  all  healthy-minded  youngsters  find 
to  their  taste  —  that  of  snow-balling  passersby. 
When  my  motor  arrived  at  the  lecture  hall  the  boys 
were  on  hand,  and  for  two  or  three  minutes  the 
car  was  the  object  of  a  fierce  fusillade  of  icy  mis- 
siles that  nearly  put  the  chauffeur  out  of  commis- 
sion. The  committee  hustled  me  into  the  hall  with 
no  more  damage  than  one  rather  slushy  splosh  of 
snow  perilously  close  to  my  neck. 

"  It 's  a  shame,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  the  chairman, 
"  and  I  apologize.  These  boys  aren't  a  bad  lot; 
235 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

but  they  are  irrepressible.  I  'd  advise  you  to  go 
slow  with  them  to-night.  They  've  broken  up  two 
lectures  already." 

"  Gracious  I  "  said  I.  "  Do  they  attend  the  lec- 
tures ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  chairman.  "  By  arrangement 
with  the  school  authorities  they  have  the  first  two 
rows  reserved  for  them  free." 

And  sure  enough  when  I  walked  out  upon  the 
platform  there  they  were,  two  solid  rows  of  them, 
eying  me  like  hungry  birds  of  prey  ready  to 
pounce  upon  a  particularly  luscious  morsel.  I 
should  have  fled  if  flight  had  been  possible;  but  it 
was  not,  and  I  looked  forward  to  an  hour  and  a 
half  of  trial.  But  as  the  chairman  was  introduc- 
ing me  an  idea  popped  into  my  head  which  I  am 
glad  to  say  saved  the  day  —  or  rather  the  niglit. 
Instead  of  my  usual  opening  I  addressed  a  few 
words  to  the  boys. 

"  It  is  an  awful  shame,  my  young  friends,"  said 
I,  "  that  the  requirements  of  this  lecture  course 
and  the  necessities  of  my  own  engagements  compel 
you  and  me  to  waste  such  a  delightful  evening  as 
this  indoors.  I  feel  just  as  badly  as  you  do  about 
it ;  for  while  what  few  hairs  I  have  are  gray,  I  give 
236 


Perils  of  the  Platform 

you  my  word  that  I  'd  rather  go  into  a  good  redhot 
snowball  fight  with  you  than  listen  to  the  finest  lec- 
ture that  was  ever  delivered.  If  I  did  n't  have  to 
go  on  to  Memphis  to-night,  I  'd  ask  the  commit- 
tee and  the  audience  to  postpone  this  lecture  un- 
til the  snow  melts,  so  that  I  could  show  you 
what  a  corking  shot  I  am  at  any  old  beaver  hat, 
moving  or  fixed,  that  ever  crowned  a  mortal 
head." 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  A  wave  of  en- 
thusiasm swept  over  the  lads,  and  the  only  inter- 
ference I  had  from  them  during  my  talk  was  a 
somewhat  too-ready  inclination  on  their  part  to 
help  me  along  with  laughter  and  applause  at  points 
where  tears  and  silence  would  have  been  more  ap- 
propriate. Moreover,  when  at  the  close  of  my 
lecture  I  started  with  some  reluctance  to  leave  the 
hall,  instead  of  the  volley  of  arctic  ammunition 
that  I  had  expected,  I  found  those  youngsters  lined 
up  twenty  on  a  side  between  the  door  and  my  motor 
with  their  hats  off,  forming  a  little  alley  of  honor 
for  me  to  tread,  giving  me  three  rousing  cheers  as 
I  departed. 

From  which  somewhat  trying  experience  I  de- 
duce that  there  is  a  good  deal  more  latent  courtesy 
237 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

in  Young  America  than  certain  despairing  critics 
of  modern  manners  would  have  us  believe.  It  may 
be  that  the  reason  why  we  do  not  find  it  oftener  is 
that  we  do  not  ourselves  give  it  the  opportunity  to 
express  itself. 

I  have  spoken  of  our  exposure  to  "  battle,  mur- 
der, and  sudden  death,"  and  to  some  it  may  have 
seemed  an  exaggeration  to  claim  anything  of  the 
sort  as  a  platform  peril;  and  yet  there  was  one 
occasion  upon  which  I  was  so  uncomfortably  tan- 
gent to  such  conditions  that  they  seemed  all  too 
real.  It  was  in  one  of  our  far  western  States. 
Scheduled  to  lecture  there  at  eight  p.m.,  my  train 
did  not  reach  the  town  until  nine-forty-five.  I 
had  telegraphed  news  of  my  delay  ahead,  and  my 
audience  with  rare  courtesy  had  voted  to  remain 
at  the  hall  until  I  arrived. 

I  dressed  on  the  train,  and  on  descending  from 
it  was  whisked  to  the  opera  house  in  a  prehistoric 
hack,  which  shed  one  of  its  wheels  en  route,  spill- 
ing the  committee  and  myself  into  the  road,  but 
without  damage;  while  my  Only  Muse  went  on  to 
the  hotel,  a  two-story  affair,  where  she  secured  ac- 
commodations for  the  night.  Later,  on  the  con- 
clusion of  my  talk,  on  my  arrival  at  the  hotel,  I 
J238 


Perils  of  the  Platform 


'  'Laughter  where 
tears  would  have 
been  more 
appropriate." 


found  the  Muse  sitting  up  in  bed,  pallid  as  a  ghost, 
with  a  revolver  at  her  side. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you?"  I 
demanded,  more  than  startled  at  the  sight. 

She  hardly  needed  to  answer ;  for  almost  as  I 
spoke  from  a  saloon  located  immediately  under- 
neath our  room  came  the  sharp  crack  of  pistols. 
239 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Somebody  below  there  was  engaged  in  the  pleasing 
occupation  of  "  shooting  up "  the  place.  Not 
having  seen  the  plans  and  specifications  of  the 
hotel,  I  did  not  know  how  thick  the  floor  was,  or 
what  were  the  prospects  for  a  sudden  eruption  of 
bullets  through  the  carpet.  It  was  not  any  safer 
to  venture  out  either ;  for  there  was  no  telling  how 
far  the  trouble  might  spread.  So  I  jumped  into 
bed  and  trusted  to  a  combination  of  Providence, 
floor,  and  hair  mattress  to  hold  me  immune.  The 
disturbance  did  not  last  long,  however,  and  shortly 
after  midnight  all  was  quiet,  and  sleep  came. 

Two  hours  later  we  were  awakened  by  a  snarl- 
ing quarrel  going  on  directly  under  our  window. 
Two  men  were  applying  epithets  of  an  uncompli- 
mentary nature  to  each  other,  when  suddenly  one 
of  them  passed  the  bounds  of  even  occidental  tol- 
eration. He  called  the  other  a  name  that  no 
right-minded  man  could  be  expected  to  stand,  and 
we  heard  three  sharp  cracks  of  a  revolver  zipping 
out  in  the  air.  We  sprang  from  the  bed  and 
rushed  to  the  window,  and  there  lying  flat  on  his 
back,  on  a  light  fall  of  snow,  in  the  glare  of  an 
electric  lamp,  was  a  man,  with  a  gradually  widen- 
ing red  spot  staining  the  white  of  the  road  on 
240 


Peiils  of  the  Platform 

which  he  lay.  There  was  no  sign  of  an  assailant 
anywhere ;  but  in  a  few  moments,  in  absolute,  al- 
most ghostly  silence,  black  figures  appeared  from 
seemingly  everywhere,  and  bent  over  the  fallen  vic- 
tim. We  could  hear  low  whisperings,  and  then 
suddenly  one  of  the  black  figures  detached  him- 
self from  the  group,  and  ran  off  down  the  street, 
returning  shortly  with  a  covered  carriage.  Into 
this  the  murdered  man  was  placed,  the  carriage 
was  driven  off,  the  snow  muffling  the  feet  of  the 
horses,  the  black  figures  vanished  as  silently  as 
they  had  come,  and  all  that  was  left  of  the  traged}^ 
was  the  red  spot  in  the  snow. 

We  had  heard  tales  of  witnesses  to  similar  dis- 
turbances being  detained  for  months  under  surveil- 
lance, practically  prisoners  of  the  law,  pending  the 
trial  of  the  guilty,  and  were  in  no  mind  to  suffer 
a  similar  experience  ourselves.  Wherefore  when 
morning  came  we  rose  with  the  first  glimmer  of 
dawn,  packed  our  suitcases,  and,  asking  no  ques- 
tions of  anybody,  departed  for  other  scenes  on  the 
earliest  milk  train  we  could  catch ;  which  hap- 
pened, fortunately,  to  be  going  in  the  right  direc- 
tion for  us. 

Personally  I  have  a  horror  of  the  Zeppelin  and 
241 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

its  powers  to  make  things  uncomfortable  from  its 
aerial  thoroughfares ;  but  as  between  it  and  the 
perils  of  being  shot  up  from  below  by  playful 
spirits  in  a  frontier  saloon  I  think  I  shall  choose 
the  Zeppelin  if  the  choice  must  be  made.  At  any 
rate,  if  either  emergency  should  ever  again  enter 
into  my  life,  I  trust  I  shall  have  a  bomb-proof  roof 
overhead,  or  an  armor-plated  hair  mattress  under- 
neath me;  for  I  have  no  taste  for  a  last  end  in 
which  a  coroner  will  be  called  upon  to  decide 
whether  the  victim  of  the  affair  was  a  mortal  be- 
ing, or  a  lifeless  combination  of  porous  plaster  and 
human  sieve. 


242 


XIII 
EMBARRASSING  MOMENTS 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  expression  of  serene 
immunity  from  care  on  the  face  of  one  of 
my  editorial  chiefs  when  some  years  ago  I  told  him 
that  I  was  very  much  embarrassed  by  certain  ar- 
rangements he  himself  had  made  over  my  head. 
They  were  such  arrangements  as  to  make  my  posi- 
tion frankly  impossible. 

"  You  have  embarrassed  me  more  than  I  care  to 
say,"  said  I. 

"  Embarrassment  is  a  sign  of  weakness,"  he  re- 
plied calmly.     "  Don't  ever  be  embarrassed." 

"But  what  can  I  do.?"  said  I.  "You  have 
made  these  arrangements,  and  — " 

"  Well,  if  I  were  you,"  said  he,  smiling,  and  put- 
ting considerable  emphasis  on  the  you,  "  rather 
than  admit  that  anything  under  heaven  embar- 
rassed me  I  'd  tell  me  to  go  to  the  devil  with  my 
arrangements." 

243 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

I  took  him  at  his  word.  Wc  both  laughed,  and 
the  immediate  awkwardness  vanished.  While  I 
cannot  truthfully  say  that  telling  him  to  "  go  to  " 
was  a  wholly  satisfactory  ultimate  solution  of  all 
our  difficulties,  I  have  as  a  matter  of  policy 
adopted  that  attitude  toward  troublesome  things 
ever  since,  to  the  material  advantage  at  least  of 
my  own  peace  of  mind.  I  have  found  the  philoso- 
phy involved  a  workable  one,  and  more  than  help- 
ful to  me  in  the  pursuit  of  my  platform  labors,  es- 
pecially that  part  of  it  involving  the  "  laugh." 

It  certainly  rescued  me  from  a  deal  of  unhap- 
piness  over  a  wasted  date  a  year  or  so  ago  in  Michi- 
gan, for  which  I  was  in  no  sense  to  blame,  and 
which,  had  the  various  parties  been  inclined  to 
quarrel  over  misfortune,  might  have  resulted  in 
much  unpleasantness. 

Following  a  Wednesday  night  engagement  in 
mid-Ohio  was  a  Thursday  night  in  a  more  or  less 
remote  section  of  the  Wolverine  State.  To  reach 
the  Thursday  night  scene  of  action  I  was  required 
to  rise  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  travel 
with  one  or  two  awkward  changes  of  trains  to  Fort 
Wayne,  going  thence  to  Kalamazoo,  and  from 
there  by  a  way  train  to  the  point  in  question.  It 
^44 


Embarrassing  ^foments 

was  a  long,  tedious  drive  of  a  day,  and  when  I 
reached  Kalamazoo  I  unburdened  myself  vigor- 
ously to  the  Only  Muse  to  the  effect  that  if  any- 
body, anywhere,  would  offer  me  a  job  as  third  as- 
sistant manager  of  a  tolerably  stationary  peanut 
stand  at  two  dollars  a  week,  payable  in  deferred 
promises,  I  should  consider  the  offer  a  most  tempt- 
ing one. 

My  comfort  was  not  at  all  enhanced  by  my  dis- 
covery on  reaching  Kalamazoo  that  I  had  com- 
pletely misread  the  timetables,  and  that  instead  of 
arriving  at  our  destination  at  five  in  the  afternoon, 
leaving  me  plenty  of  time  for  rest,  refreshment, 
and  change  of  clothes,  the  only  possible  train,  even 
if  it  ran  on  time,  could  not  get  me  through  to  the 
haven  of  my  desires  until  five  minutes  before  eight, 
with  the  lecture  scheduled  to  begin  at  eight-fifteen. 
So  I  rested,  refreshed,  and  dressed  at  Kalamazoo, 
and  perforce  traveled  over  the  last  stage  of  that 
wearisome  journey  in  full  evening  dress,  slowly 
but  surely  accumulating  en  route  a  sufficient  sup- 
ply of  soot,  cinders,  grit,  and  other  appurtenances 
of  travel  on  a  soft-coal,  one-horse  railroad,  to 
make  me  appear  like  a  masterpiece  of  spatterwork 
when  I  arrived  at  the  farther  end. 
245 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

By  some  odd  mischance,  never  as  yet  satisfac- 
torilj^  accounted  for,  the  train  got  through  on 
time.  The  Only  Muse  and  I  hastily  boarded  an 
omnibus,  and  were  whisked  through  the  impene- 
trable depths  of  a  dark  night  to  the  hotel,  whence, 
after  seeing  her  properly  bestowed,  I  hastened  to 
the  Auditorium  where  the  lecture  was  to  be 
held.  To  my  surprise  when  I  got  there  I  found 
the  building  wholly  dark.  There  was  not  a  sign 
of  life  anywhere  about  it.  I  banged,  whacked, 
and  thundered  on  the  door  like  an  invading  ar- 
tillery corps ;  but  with  no  response  of  any  sort. 
But  a  glance  up  the  street  a  moment  later  re- 
lieved the  pressure  of  my  woe ;  for  there  my 
vision  was  cheered  by  a  brilliantly  lighted 
church. 

"  Of  course,"  I  thought,  "  the  Auditorium  is  too 
small  to  accommodate  the  audience,  and  they  've 
changed  over  to  the  church." 

I  glanced  at  my  watch,  and  discovered  that  I 
had  two  minutes  to  spare.  A  goodly  sprint 
brought  me  panting  to  the  front  door  of  the  edi- 
fice, and  with  some  unnecessary  noise,  perhaps  due 
wholly  to  the  impetuosity  of  my  approach,  I  burst 
in  upon  the  assembled  multitude  —  to  find,  alas ! 
246 


Embarrassing  3Ioments 

that  the  very  sizable  audience  gathered  there  with 
their  heads  bowed,  and  listening  to  an  eloquent 
appeal  for  blessings  desired  by  a  gentleman  wear- 
ing a  long  frock  coat  and 
a  white  necktie,  were  not 
for  me.  To  my  chagrin 
I  soon  learned  that  I  had 
come  within  an  ace  of 
breaking  up  a  prayer 
meeting  —  if  I  may  be  al- 
lowed the  use  of  such  in- 
congruous terms  in  the 
phrase.  I  backed  out  as 
gracefully  as  I  could,  and 
collided  with  a  late  comer. 

"  Is  there  more  than 
one  Auditorium  in  this 
town  ?  "  I  whispered,  after 
apologizing  for  my  reac- 
tionary  behavior. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  re- 
plied politely,  "  there 
is  the  Auditorium, 
and  the  High  School 
Auditorium," 


'I  found 
the 

building 
wholly 
dark." 


247 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  Well,  would  jou  mind  telling  nie  where  they 
are  ?  "  I  queried. 

"  That  is  the  High  School  Auditorium  up 
there,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  Egyptian  darkness 
I  had  just  left.  "The  other  is  three  squares 
down,  where  you  see  all  those  electric  lights." 

Whether  I  thanked  the  gentleman  or  not  I  do 
not  know.  I  hope  I  did ;  but  in  the  hurry  of  my 
departure  I  fear  I  seemed  discourteous.  Another 
speedy  dash,  which  left  me  completely  winded, 
brought  me  to  the  other  Auditorium,  and  there  in 
the  full  glare  of  an  electric  spotlight,  assisted  in 
its  quest  of  publicity  by  a  hoarse-tongued  barker 
with  a  megaphone,  I  was  confronted  by  a  highly 
colored  lithograph,  showing  a  very  pink  Mabel, 
Queen  of  the  Movies,  standing  before  a  very  blue 
American  soldier  tied  to  a  tree,  shielding  him  from 
the  bullets  of  a  line  of  very  green  Mexicans,  under 
the  command  of  a  very  red  villain,  holding  a  very 
mauve  sword  in  his  very  yellow  hand,  and  bidding 
them  to  "  Fire !  "  If  I  was  expected  to  take  any 
part  in  the  thrilling  episode  that  appeared  to  be 
going  on  inside,  there  was  nothing  in  the  chromatic 
advertising  outside  to  indicate  the  fact;  though  I 
confess  I  was  becoming  painfully  conscious  of  cer- 
248 


Embarrassing  Moments 

tain  strong  resemblances  between  my  very  breath- 
less self  and  that  very  blue  American  trooper  tied 
to  the  tree. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  I,  addressing  the  barker, 
"  but  is  there  to  be  a  lecture  here  to-night?  " 

"  Not  so 's  anybody  'd  notice  it,"  said  he. 
"  These  is  the  movies." 

"  Well  —  tell  me  —  is  there  a  lecture  course  of 
any  kind  in  this  town  that  you  know  of?  "  I  asked. 

"  Sure !  "  said  he.  "  Miss  So-and-So  down  at 
the  library  is  runnin'  a  lecture  stunt  of  some  kind 
this  year.  You  '11  find  the  library  on  Main  Street, 
opposite  the  hotel." 

Again,  late  as  it  was,  the  skies  cleared,  and  I 
moved  on  to  the  library,  completing  the  circuit  of 
vast  numbers  of  blocks  to  a  point  almost  opposite 
the  spot  I  had  started  from  fifteen  lifelong  minutes 
before.  I  arrived  in  a  state  of  active  perspiration 
and  suspended  respiration  that  did  not  seem  to 
promise  much  in  the  way  of  a  successful  delivery 
of  my  lecture  that  night.  I  hoped  the  Library 
Auditorium  would  not  prove  to  be  a  large  one ; 
for  in  my  disorganized  condition  I  did  not  feel 
capable  of  projecting  my  voice  even  into  the  shal- 
lows, to  say  nothing  of  the  sometimes  unfathom- 
249 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

able  deptlis  of  endless  tiers  of  seats.  And  my 
hope  was  realized;  in  fact  it  was  more  than  real- 
ized, for  there  was  n't  any  Library  Auditorium  at 
all. 

The  citizens  of  that  town  had  a  library  that  was 
devoted  rather  to  good  literature  than  to  archi- 
tectural splendor.  Their  books  were  housed  in  an 
ordinary  shop,  or  store.  It  was  deep,  narrow, 
and  bookislily  cozy,  and  at  the  far  end  of  it,  seated 
at  a  generously  large  table,  engaged  in  knitting, 
was  a  charming  lady  who  glanced  up  from  her  nee- 
dles as  I  approached. 

"  Pardon  my  intrusion,  madam,"  I  panted,  "  but 
can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Miss  So-and-So  ?  " 

"  I  am  Miss  So-and-So,"  she  replied  graciously. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  Mr.  Bangs." 

Her  knitting  fell  to  the  floor.  "Why  —  Mr. 
Bangs !  "  she  replied,  with  a  gasp  almost  equal  to 
my  own.  "  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you ;  but 
what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"I  —  I  've  come  to  lecture,"  I  said  weakly,  al- 
most pleadingly. 

"To  lecture?"  she  echoed.  '^  Why,  your  lec- 
ture is  not  to  he  until  a  -week  from  to-night! '  * 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  get  my  as- 
250 


Emharrassing  Moments 

tral  body  to  work,"  said  I ;  "  for  a  week  from  to- 
night I  shall  be  at  Hiawatha,  Kansas.  How  do 
you  propose  to  have  the  lecture  delivered  —  by 
long  distance  telephone,  or  parcels  post?  " 

We  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  then  —  we  both  laughed.  It  seemed  the  only 
thing  to  do. 

GaEantry  forbids  my  saying  which  of  us  had 
made  the  mistake  under  the  terms  of  the  written 
contract.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  two  months  later 
I  returned  to  that  good  little  town,  and  was  re- 
ceived like  a  conquering  hero  by  an  audience  that 
in  its  cordiality  more  than  compensated  me  for  the 
distressing  effects  of  an  "  unlectured  lecture." 

What  promised  to  be  a  more  serious  complica- 
tion occurred  about  a  month  later  in  Florida,  where 
in  pursuance  of  instructions  from  my  Southern 
managers  I  arrived  at  Daytona  on  a  Monday,  to 
open  the  flourishing  Chautauqua  Course,  which 
has  become  a  permanent  feature  of  life  at  that  at- 
tractive Southern  resort.  The  seriousness  of  the 
situation  grew  out  of  the  quality  of  the  genius  and 
the  nature  of  the  popularity  of  the  other  individ- 
ual involved,  who  was  no  less  a  personage  than 
the  Hon.  William  Jennings  Bryan.  Any  minor 
251 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

star  in  the  platform  firmament  who  comes  into  col- 
lision with  the  planetary  splendor  of  this  Monarch 
of  Modern  Loquacity  has  about  as  much  chance 
of  escaping  unscathed  as  a  tallow-dip  would  have 
in  a  passage  at  arms  with  the  sun  itself. 

There  is  no  escaping  the  fact  that  Mr.  Bryan  is 
the  idol  of  the  Chautauqua  Circuit,  and  it  is 
equally  true  that  every  bit  of  the  success  he  has 
achieved  therein  he  has  earned  many  times  over. 
I  am  not,  never  have  been,  and  see  no  possibility 
of  my  ever  becoming,  a  devotee  of  Mr.  Bryan's 
political  fortunes ;  but  as  a  platform  speaker  he 
is  far  and  away  the  most  brilliant  and  likable  per- 
sonality in  the  public  eye  to-day.  He  is  an  expert 
in  playing  upon  the  emotions  of  an  audience,  large 
or  small  —  preferably  large  —  as  ever  was  Dud- 
ley Buck  in  the  manipulation  of  the  keys  and  stops 
of  an  organ,  and  he  can  at  will  strike  chords  in 
the  human  heart  as  searchingly  appealing  as  any 
produced  by  an  Elman  or  a  Kreisler  on  the  vio- 
lin, or  a  Padcrewski  at  the  piano. 

The  keynotes  of  his  platform  work  are  a  seem- 
ing sincerity  and  a  magnetic  humanness  that  arc 
irresistible,  and  no  Individual  who  has  ever  listened 
to  him  in  matters  outside  of  political  controversy, 
252 


Embarrassing  Moments 

however  reluctant  to  admit  his  greatness,  has 
failed  to  fall  beneath  the  winning  spell  of  man, 
matter,  and  method.  He  is  an  interesting  person- 
ality, and  has  a  greater  number  of  points  of  con- 
tact with  the  general  run  of  humanity  than  any 
other  public  speaker  of  to-day.  It  is  a  stimulat- 
ing thing  to  know  that  in  this  line  of  human  en- 
deavor he  has  got  his  reward  in  the  assured 
position  he  holds  in  a  movement  at  which  it  is  the 
fashion  in  some  uninformed  and  cynical  quarters 
to  sneer,  but  which  in  point  of  fact  has  had  a  su- 
premely awakening  effect  upon  the  American  peo- 
ple, and  for  which  we  are  all  of  us  the  better 
off. 

"  All  of  which,"  as  a  friend  of  mine  once  put  it 
after  I  had  expressed  myself  in  similar  terms  con- 
cerning Mr.  Bryan,  "  is  some  tribute  for  a  narrow- 
minded,  hide-bound,  bigoted,  old  standpat,  reac- 
tionary, antediluvian  Republican  to  pay  to  a  hated 
rival !  " 

I  was  frankly  appalled  on  arriving  at  Daytona 
to  find  the  town  placarded  from  end  to  end  with 
posters  announcing  Mr.  Bryan's  appearance  there 
that  evening  —  my  evening,  as  I  had  supposed  it 
to  be.  I  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do.  I 
253 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

knew  perfectly  well  what  would  happen  to  me  If  it 
came  to  a  hand-to-hand  contest  for  possession  of 
the  stage.  Physically,  with  Mr.  Bryan  and  my- 
self left  to  decide  the  matter  for  ourselves,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  pair  of  bantam  white  hopes,  I  felt 
that  I  might  have  a  fairly  good  chance  to  win  out ; 
for  I  am  not  altogether  without  brawn,  and  in  the 
matter  of  handling  a  pair  of  boxing  gloves  am  prob- 
ably quite  as  expert  as  the  late  Secretary  of  State ; 
but  nobody  outside  of  Matteawan  would  be  so 
blind  to  commonsense  as  to  expect  an  audience 
anywhere  either  to  stand  neutral  or  to  indulge  in 
a  policy  of  "  watchful  waiting  "  with  such  a  con- 
test going  on  on  the  platform. 

My  first  impulse  in  the  circumstances  was  to  get 
out  of  town  as  quickly  and  as  quietly  as  I  could, 
and  forget  that  there  was  such  a  place  as  Daytona 
on  the  map ;  but  a  careful  scrutiny  of  my  letter  of 
instructions  reassured  me.  The  date,  according 
to  the  supreme  managers  at  Atlanta,  was  clearly 
mine,  and  I  decided  at  least  to  go  down  with  colors 
flying.  I  have  never  run  from  my  o^\^l  litho- 
graphs, and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  flee  from 
Mr.  Bryan's.  I  got  in  touch  with  the  local  com- 
mittee as  soon  as  possible,  and  soon  had  at  least 
254 


Embarrassing  Moments 

the  solace  of  companionship  in  my  misery.  They 
were  as  upset  about  it  as  I  was. 

"  But,  Mr.  Bangs,"  protested  the  chairman,  al- 
most with  tears  in  his  eyes  —  his  voice  was  full  of 
them  — "  you  are  n't  due  here  until  to-morrow 
night." 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  I  replied  unfeel- 
ingly. "  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  am  not 
twins,  and  only  twins  can  appear  in  two  places  at 
once.     I  am  to  lecture  at  Miami  to-morrow  night." 

I  handed  the  gentleman  my  letter  of  instruc- 
tions, confirming  my  statement.  It  was  all  down 
in  black  and  white. 

"  It 's  a  perfectly  terrible  situation,"  said  the 
chairman,  tears  even  springing  from  his  brow, 
"  and  I  'm  blest  if  I  know  what  to  do !  " 

"  There  is  only  one  of  three  things  to  be  done," 
said  I.  "  The  first  is  to  let  me  sit  in  the  audience 
to-night  and  listen  to  Mr.  Bryan,  collecting  my  fee 
on  the  ground  that  I  have  earned  it  by  holding  my 
tongue  —  which  is  some  job  for  a  man  primed  with 
unspoken  words.  The  second  is  to  let  Mr.  Bryan 
and  myself  go  out  on  the  platform  and  indulge  in 
a  lecture  Marathon,  he  at  one  side  of  the  stage,  I 
at  the  other,  talking  simultaneously,  the  one  that 
255 


^From  Pillar  to  Post 

gets  through  first  to  get  the  gate  money.  Tho 
third  and  best  is  for  you  to  telegraph  Mr.  Bryan 
and  find  out  direct  from  him  what  liis  understand- 
ing is  as  to  the  date." 

The  first  or  the  last  of  the  propositions  would 
have  suited  me  perfectly ;  for  I  should  have  been 
delighted  to  listen  to  Mr.  Bryan  whether  I  was 
paid  for  it  or  not  —  and  most  assuredly  had  Mr. 
Bryan  himself  laid  claim  to  the  date  no  power  on 
this  earth  could  have  lured  me  into  a  dispute  over 
its  possession.  I  am  too  proud  of  this  life  to  risk 
its  uncertain  tenure  for  the  brief  glory  of  an  hour 
on  a  preempted  platform. 

I  am  glad  to  say  that  before  dusk  the  complica- 
tion was  cleared  off ;  for,  the  third  alternative  hav- 
ing been  accepted  by  the  committee,  Mr.  Bryan 
was  caught  on  the  wire,  and  replied  instantly  to 
the  effect  that  he  was  to  lecture  that  night  on  some 
such  subject  as  "  The  Curse  of  Wealth"  at  Palm 
Beach,  where  many  sufferers  from  that  particular 
blight  are  annually  gathered  together  in  large 
numbers.  The  skies  immediately  cleared,  and  I 
went  out  that  night  before  a  packed  house,  the  un- 
witting beneficiary  of  widespread  advertising  on 
Mr.  Bryan's  behalf,  and  enjoyed  myself  very 
256 


E mharrassing  Mo  me n  ts 

much ;  although  as  I  sped  along  I  could  "  spot  " 
here  and  there  in  the  audience  individuals  who, 
having  come  to  hear  Mr.  Bryan,  like  Rachel  weep- 
ing for  her  children,  "  refused  to  be  comforted." 

My  only  lasting  regret  was  that  my  contract  did 
not  call  for  the  payment  to  me  of  fifty  per  cent,  of 
the  boxoffice  receipts.  I  have  no  doubt  there  were 
people  there  that  night  who  thought,  and  possibly 
still  think,  that  I  stole  that  audience.  And  per- 
haps I  did;  but  I  was  no  more  responsible  for  the 
theft  than  was  poor  little  Oliver  Twist,  who  found 
himself  at  unexpected  places  at  unlooked  for  hours 
through  the  efforts  of  those  "  higher  up."  I  may 
add  too  in  all  sincerity  that  if  Mr.  Bryan  himself 
feels,  or  felt,  in  any  way  aggrieved  over  what  he 
might  call  my  "  unearned  increment  "  in  listeners, 
I  will  gladly  exchange  fees  with  him.  I  will  un- 
hesitatingly, at  his  request,  and  by  return  mail, 
send  him  my  check  for  the  full  amount  received  by 
me  on  that  somewhat  nervous  occasion  if  he  will 
send  me  a  postoffice  order  for  the  amount  received 
by  him  the  evening  after. 

Embarrassments  of  a  less  poignant  character 
frequently  arise  in  the  matter  of  unexpected  calls 
for  service,  for  which  the  public  generally  assumes 
257 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

the  platform  speaker  to  be  necessarily  always  pre- 
pared, but  for  which  as  a  matter  of  fact  no  amount 
of  preparation  could  adequately  fit  any  man  built 
on  the  old-fashioned  plan  in  respect  to  his  nervous 
organization.  One  of  these  affairs  came  into  my 
experience  a  decade  ago,  when,  crossing  the  Atlan- 
tic Ocean  on  that  high-rolling  ocean  greyhound, 
the  Lucania,  I  was  drafted  by  an  overzealous  com- 
mittee of  arrangements  to  preside  over  one  of  those 
impromptu  entertainments  got  up  on  shipboard 
for  the  benefit  of  the  widows  and  orphans  of  those 
who  go  down  into  the  sea  in  ships.  To  these  more 
than  worthy  enterprises  gratitude  for  benefits  re- 
ceived has  always  made  me  a  willing  contributor ; 
but  to  participate  in  them  has  ever  been  a  trial. 
I  would  rather  lecture  before  the  inmates  of  a 
deaf  and  dumb  asylum  with  a  sore  thumb. 

The  company  aboard  a  transatlantic  liner  is  al- 
ways, to  say  the  least,  "  mixed  "  in  the  matter  of 
nationality ;  and,  while  one  might  be  willing  to 
"  make  a  stab  "  at  being  witty  before  a  gathering 
all  English,  all  French,  all  German,  or  Pan-Amer- 
ican, woe  be  unto  him  who  vaingloriously  attacks 
the  risibles  of  a  multitude  made  up  of  all  these 
widely  varying  racial  elements!  Their  standards 
258 


Embarrassing  ^foments 

of  humor  are  as  widely  divergent  as  are  their  sev- 
eral racial  strains,  and  one  might  as  well  try  to  sit 
on  four  stools  at  once  with  perfect  composure  as 
expect  to  find  the  "  Chair  "  under  such  conditions 
comfortable.  One  has  to  acquiesce  in  such  de- 
mands, however,  or  be  set  down  as  disagreeable, 
and  when  the  committee  approached  me  in  the  mat- 
ter they  received  a  much  readier  yes  than  I  really 
wished  to  give  them. 

The  night  came,  and  I  found  myself  at  the  head 
table  in  the  dining  saloon  working  for  dear  life  to 
keep  the  thing  going.  There  was  a  pretty  slim 
array  of  talent,  and  from  one  end  of  the  program 
to  the  other  there  was  nobody  to  hang  a  really 
good  joke  on,  even  if  I  had  had  one  to  hang.  A 
chairman  can  always  be  facetious  at  the  expense 
of  distinguished  people  like  Chauncey  M.  Dopew, 
Henry  James,  or  Mr.  Caruso,  and  "  get  away 
with  it  " ;  but  the  obscure  amateur  cannot  be  han- 
dled with  brutal  impunity.  I  think  I  may  say 
truthfully  that  no  man  ever  worked  harder  at  the 
pumps  of  a  sinking  ship  than  I  did  that  night. 
And  to  make  matters  worse  there  was  a  heavy  roll- 
ing sea  on,  and,  while  I  never  suffer  from  seasick- 
ness, the  combination  of  motion  and  nerves  made 
259 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

me  uncomfortably  conscious  of  an  insurgent  midst 
as  I  forged  hopelessly  ahead. 

Finally,  however,  there  came  a  rift  in  the  cloud 
of  my  despair.  A  pleasant  little  cockney  ballad 
singer  who  was  coming  over  to  America  for  a  sea- 
son in  vaudeville  volunteered  to  sing  a  ballad.  It 
was  well  sung,  and  most  pathetic.  It  depicted  in 
dramatic  fashion  the  delirium  of  an  old  British 
veteran,  who,  as  the  hour  of  death  approached  him, 
was  fighting  over  again  in  fancy  the  battles  of  his 
youth.  The  refrain  of  the  ballad  was  Bring  me 
the  old  Martini,  and  I  shall  die  in  peace!  —  refer- 
ring of  course  to  the  rifle  that  for  a  period  of  years 
up  to  1890  had  been  the  official  weapon  of  Tommy 
Atkins.  I  made  the  most  of  so  obvious  a  lead,  and 
before  introducing  the  next  number  on  the  pro- 
gram thanked  the  singer  for  his  dramatic  render- 
ing of  so  fine  a  story. 

"  But,  my  friends,"  said  I,  "  that  ballad  saddens 
me  in  more  respects  than  one.  I  have  long  be- 
lieved in  international  brotherhood.  In  common 
with  my  friend  Conan  Doyle  and  others  who  have 
advocated  the  hands  stretched  across  the  sea,  I 
have  been  in  sympathetic  accord  with  the  idea  of 
universal  brotherhood ;  but  now  and  then  certain 
260 


Embarrassing  Moments 

little  things  crop  up  that,  insignificant  in  them- 
selves, show  us  none  the  less  how  radically  far 
apart  we  really  are.  This  splendid  old  British 
warrior  calling  for  his  Martini  is  a  case  in  point, 
and  I  am  sure  my  own  compatriots  here  to-night 
at  any  rate  will  realize  the  vast  gulfs  of  separation 
that  exist  between  the  Britons  and  ourselves  when 
I  ask  them  what  they  would  bring  to  a  dying 
American  soldier,  delirious  or  otherwise,  if  he  were 
to  call  for  a  Martini." 

The  point  took  with  the  Americans ;  but  the  oth- 
ers, charming  Frenchmen,  delightful  Grermans, 
cultivated  Englishmen,  stared  at  me  in  stolid 
silence,  and  one  or  two  of  them  shook  their  heads 
as  if  bewildered.  It  was  a  hard  situation,  and  I 
slammed  the  rest  of  the  evening  through  without 
further  attempts  at  playfulness,  retiring  to  the  se- 
clusion that  my  cabin  granted  an  hour  later,  re- 
solved never  again  to  serve  as  presiding  elder  at  a 
vaudeville  show  either  on  land  or  sea. 

I  felt  almost  as  solemnly  embarrassed  as  I  did 
one  evening  in  Pennsylvania,  later,  when  my  lec- 
ture was  opened  with  prayer  and  I  heard  a  good 
clergyman  begging  the  Lord  to  "  show  His  mercy 
upon  the  audience  gathered  here,"  to  "  protect 
261 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

them  fi'oni  all  sufFcring,  and  in  His  infinite  wisdom, 
if  it  were  His  will,  to  enable  the  speaker  of  the 
evening  to  rise  to  his  opportunity." 

But  there  was  an  after  result  of  that  Martini 
jest  which  more  than  made  up  for  the  depression 
that  followed  its  failure  to  strike  home.  I  write 
of  it,  however,  with  some  diffidence ;  for  I  am  con- 
vinced that  some  reader  somewhere  will  observe 
that  the  incident  is  only  another  variation  of 
Senator  Depew's  famous  tale  of  the  Englishman 
who  wanted  to  know  what  really  was  the  matter 
with  the  mince  pie.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  the 
twin  brother  of  that  famous  anecdote ;  but,  while  I 
am  perfectly  willing  to  think  the  Depew  story 
really  happened,  I  know  that  mine  did,  and  I  there- 
fore record  it. 

The  morning  following  the  impromptu  concert 
I  was  pacing  the  deck  of  the  steamer  when  one  of 
the  more  distinguished  passengers  aboard,  an 
English  army  officer,  who  occupied  at  that  time, 
and  still  holds,  an  important  post  in  British  mili- 
tary circles,  stopped  me. 

"  Mr.  Bangs,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand,  "  1 
want  to  thank  you  for  a  charming  evening  last 
night,  and  to  express  my  admiration  for  the  de- 
262 


Embarrassing  Moments 

lightful  way  in  which  jou  carried  off  your  diflBcult 
honors.     It  was  really  most  interesting." 

"  Thank  you,  General,"  said  I.  "  That  is  very 
nice  to  hear.     I  thought  it  fell  rather  flat." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  rejoined;  "  though, 
to  speak  quite  frankly,  there  was  one  of  your  jests 
that  I  —  I  —  I  did  n't  really  get.  What  humor 
you  have,  sir,  I  think  I  appreciate.  During  a 
period  of  convalescence  in  the  Transvaal  somebody 
sent  me  a  copy  of  your  '  House  Boat  on  the  Styx,' 
and  I  —  I  —  I  found  it  very  amusing ;  but  this 
joke  last  night  —  after  the  little  chap  had  sung 
that  ballad  —  about  the  dying  veteran  you  know 
—  it  quite  escaped  me.  Er  —  what  would  they 
bring  cm  Americwn,  soldier  who  called  for  a 
Martini?  " 

"  Well,  General,"  said  I,  restraining  an  impulse 
to  be  amused,  "  I  might  explain,  and  explain  and 
explain  the  point  to  you,  giving  you  a  chart  in  full 
detail,  exploiting  the  theory  of  the  thing  as  fully 
as  possible,  without  satisfactory  results.  It  is  a 
case  where  an  object  lesson  will  demonstrate  in  a 
minute  what  no  amount  of  abstract  argument 
could  convey  in  a  year.  If  you  will  come  with  me 
into  the  smoking  room,  I  '11  show  you  exactly  what 
363 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


nine  out  of  ten  people  in  America  would  give  to  a 
soldier  crying  aloud  for  a  Martini." 

We  repaired  accordingly  to  the  smoking  room, 
and  in  response  to  my  order  the  steward  shortly 

I          placed       two 


'But  what  was 
the  point  of 
this  little  joke 
last  night  ?' ' 


misty  Mar- 
tini cocktails 
before  us, 

"There 
you  are. 
Genera  1," 
said  I,  smil- 
ing, "  that 's 
what ! " 

He  gazed 
at  the  Mar- 
tinis a  mo- 
m  e  n  t ,  and 
then  he  fixed 
his  handsome 
eyes  on  me. 
There  was  a 
merry  twin- 
He  in  them, 
and  after  he 


264> 


Embarrassing  Moments 

had  swallowed  the  object  lesson  he  leaned  over 
with  a  broad  smile  and  spoke. 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  he, 
"  that  that  idea  you  Americans  have  that  we 
British  are  sometimes  a  trifle  sluggish  in  our  per- 
ception of  the  subtler  points  of  an  American  jest, 
bristling  as  they  often  do  with  latent  significance, 
is  not  altogether  without  justification.  In  order 
to  show  you  how  completely,  how  fully,  I  appre- 
ciate the  excellence  of  your  witticism  I  would  sug- 
gest that  we  have  two  more.''' 

I  draw  no  conclusions  of  an  invidious  nature  from 
this  little  episode ;  for  I  recall  with  pain,  and  some 
contrition,  an  American  audience  in  a  prohibition 
section  of  one  of  our  Eastern  States  before  whom  I 
had  the  hardihood  to  tell  that  story  on  a  hot  sum- 
mer night  three  years  ago,  only  one  of  whose  six 
hundred  members  saw  the  point,  and  he  did  n't  dare 
laugh  for  fear  that  by  doing  so  he  might  risk  his 
reputation  for  sobriety  —  or  so  he  informed  me 
for  my  consolation  later  in  the  evening  as  he  and  I 
zig-zagged  together  down  an  ice-covered  moun- 
tain-road to  the  railway  station  in  a  rattling  mo- 
tor car  driven  by  a  chauff"eur  who  had  apparently 
confounded  his  own  stomach  with  the  gasoline  tank. 
265 


XIV 

"SLINGS  AND  ARROWS" 

ONE'S  democracy  receives  a  pretty  severe  test 
on  the  road,  and  I  am  indeed  sorry  for  the 
man  who  is  always  so  solicitous  for  his  own  dignity 
that  the  free  and  easy  habits  of  the  American  of 
Today  affront  him.  The  lecture  platform  is  no 
place  for  what  Doctor  Johnson's  friend  Richard 
Savage  would  doubtless  in  these  days  have  char- 
acterized as  "  the  tenth  transmitter  of  a  foolish 
pride." 

A  people  like  ours,  made  up  of  a  hundred  million 
sovereigns,  and  actuated  for  the  most  part,  in  their 
social  intercourse  at  least,  by  a  spirit  of  frater- 
nity, mixed  with  a  very  decided  inclination  to  be 
facetious,  forms  a  somewhat  bristling  environment 
for  the  supersensitively  self-centered.  If  such  a 
one  contemplates  the  invasion  of  the  lyceum  terri- 
tory, as  a  friend  and  brother  let  me  advise  him  to 
spend  at  least  a  year  in  some  social  settlement 
266 


"  Slings  and  Arrows  " 

where  he  may  be  inoculated  with  sundry  useful 
social  germs,  as  a  preventive  of  much  misery  ahead. 
He  must  get  used  to  much  familiarity  of  a  sudden 
sort,  and  realize  fully  that  our  American  world, 
while  it  respects  ability,  and  withholds  from  it  no 
atom  of  its  due  appreciation,  is  in  no  particular  a 
respecter  of  mere  persons. 

In  respect  to  "  having  to  be  shown  "  we  are  by  a 
large  majority  "  from  Missouri,"  and  it  will  never 
do  for  the  lyceumite  to  try  to  hedge  himself  about 
with  any  fences  of  false  dignity.  The  palings  of 
those  fences  may  be  sharp,  and  connected  with 
barbed  wire ;  but  the  American  citizens  of  the  hour 
walk  through  them,  or  vault  them,  as  easily  as  if 
they  were  not  there.  And  it  is  all  very  harmless 
too  ;  for  no  man's  real  dignity  has  ever  yet  suffered 
from  any  assaults  other  than  his  own. 

I  recall  an  incident  of  my  travels  in  the  Dakotas 
some  years  ago  that  brought  this  situation  home  to 
me  very  vividly.  I  was  on  my  way  to  a  county 
seat  in  one  of  those  vast  twin  commonwealths  on 
a  rather  sluggish  way  train,  and  found  among  my 
fellow  travelers  three  very  live  human  beings  who 
had  apparently  just  met  after  a  long  separation. 
One  of  them  was  a  rather  stout  little  man,  with  a 
267 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

fresh,  boyish  face ;  another  was  a  tall  and  spare 
ferret-eyed  individual  wlio  might  have  posed  as  an 
acceptable  model  for  a  picture  of  Sherlock  Holmes ; 
and  the  third  was  a  well  built  young  giant,  a 
veritable  blond  Samson,  full  of  the  boisterous 
spirits  of  young  manhood. 

The  three  sat  across  the  aisle  from  me,  and  inas- 
much as  Nature  had  not  seen  fit  to  supply  their 
vocal  organs  with  soft  pedals,  or  pianissimo  stops, 
I  became  an  unwitting,  though  not  unwilling, 
listener  to  their  conversation.  It  was  amusing, 
clean,  and  bristling  with  good-fellowship,  though 
not  wholly  Chesterfieldian  in  character.  Finally 
the  Sherlock  Holmes  man,  turning  to  the  stout 
little  chap,  who  was  sitting  next  to  the  car  window, 
observed : 

"  Well,  old  man,  you  're  lookin'  a  heap  better 
than  ya  did  the  last  time  I  saw  ya." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stout  little  man,  "  I  'm  feeling 
better.  I  've  been  on  a  diet  for  the  past  six 
months." 

And   here   the    stalwart   young  blond    Samson 

playfully  interposed.     "  Well,  it  was  about  time, 

ya  big,  fat  stuff !  "  he  said.     "  Ya  had  a  stummick 

on  ya  big  enough  for  sixteen  men."     Whereupon 

268 


"  Slings  and  Arrows  " 

he  proceeded  to  j  am  the  little  man's  derby  hat  down 
over  his  eyes. 

Ordinarily  this  would  be  regarded  as  a  rather 
commonplace,  unenlightened  conversation ;  but  its 
application  to  my  point  came  the  following  morn- 
ing, when,  having  several  hours  to  spare  before  de- 
parting for  other  scenes,  I  went  into  the  county 
courthouse  to  watch  the  litigation  in  progress 
there.  It  was  a  scene  full  of  interest,  and  the  pro- 
ceedings were  conducted  on  a  plane  of  dignity 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  highest  traditions  of  the 
bench,  everything  going  on  decently  and  in  order. 
But  the  interesting  and  possibly  amazing  thing 
about  it  to  me  was  the  sight  that  greeted  my  eyes 
in  the  person  of  the  Sherlock  Holmes  man  of  the 
day  before,  conducting  an  eloquent  argument  be- 
fore the  stout  little  man  of  the  train,  who  was  no 
less  a  person  than  —  the  Presiding  Justice!  And 
the  young  giant  who  had  called  him  a  big,  fat  stuff, 
and  jammed  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  was  the 
court  stenographer! 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  lunching  with  all  three  of 
them  later  in  the  day,  and  a  finer  lot  of  true-blue 
American  citizens  I  have  not  met  anywhere  else, 
before  or  since. 

269 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

If  one  has  any  purely  physical  peculiarity  of  an 
obvious  nature,  he  must  get  reconciled  to  having 
it  used  as  a  hook  for  his  discomfiture,  or  his  delec- 
tation, according  as  his  own  attitude  toward  the 
slings  and  arrows  of  life  causes  him  to  take  them. 
In  my  own  case  perhaps  the  most  conspicuous 
personal  idiosyncrasy  I  present  physically  to  the 
eye  of  the  casual  beholder  is  an  almost  abnormal 
lack  of  hirsute  adornment ;  always  a  favorite  point 
of  attack  by  facetiously  inclined  chairmen,  by 
whom  I  have  been  eloquently  likened  to  the  "  im- 
perishable Alps  "  for  that  I  lacked  "  vegetation  " 
on  my  "  summit,"  to  a  "  heliograph  on  the  Hills  of 
Letters,"  and  by  one  I  was  called  "  the  legitimate 
successor  of  the  lamented  Bill  Nye,  the  Original 
Billiard  Ball  on  the  Pool  Tables  of  Modern 
Humor." 

Most  of  my  delectable  misadventures  in  respect 
to  this  deficiency  have  naturally  occurred  in  the 
barber  shops  of  the  nation,  and  it  has  been  sur- 
prising to  mc,  as  an  interested  student  of  American 
humor,  to  note  how  full  of  variety  are  the  spon- 
taneous outbursts  of  the  Knights  of  the  Razor 
everywhere  upon  that  seemingly  barren  topic. 

One  barber  in  Wisconsin,  to  whom  I  facetiously 
270 


'^ Slings  and  Arrows" 

complained  that  he  should  not  charge  me  full  price 
for  a  haircut  when  there  was  so  little  to  cut,  came 
back  immediately  with,  "  Ah,  but  you  see  I  had  to 
work  overtime  to  find  it !  " 

Another  in  Boston,  after  shaving  me,  inquired, 
"  Now  how  do  you  want  your  hair  brushed?  " 

"  Brush  it  back  like  that  young  man's  in  the 
next  chair,"  said  I,  pointing  to  a  Harvard  student 
with  a  perfect  mop  of  hair,  resembling  a  huge 
yellow  chrysanthemum,  which  the  neighboring  art- 
ist was  brushing  laboriously  back  from  the  youth- 
ful forehead. 

"  Humph !  "  said  my  friend.  "  I  '11  try  ;  but, 
take  it  from  me,  it  'II  take  a  blistering  long  time  to 
brush  your  hair  bach!  " 

But  the  readiest  bit  of  repartee  that  I  recall  in 
respect  to  this  shortcoming  was  that  of  a  Phila- 
delphia barber  two  years  ago,  who  was  trying  to 
make  me  presentable  for  my  audience  that  night  in 
the  Witherspoon  Hall  University  extension  course, 
where  I  was  to  deliver  a  series  of  lectures  on 
American  humorists. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  running  his  hand  over  the  back 
of  my  head  after  he  had   attended  to  my  other 
needs,  "  how  do  you  want  your  hair  fixed?  " 
271 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  In  silence,  and  without  humor,"  said  I.  "  I 
am  approaching  my  fiftieth  year  in  this  world,  and 
since  thirty  I  have  been  as  you  see  me  now.  In 
the  course  of  those  twenty  intervening  years  I  have 
heard  about  every  joke  on  the  subject  of  baldness 
that  the  human  mind  has  been  able  to  conceive  at 
least  fifty  thousand  times." 

"  I  guess  that 's  right,"  said  he.  "  You  are 
pretty  bald,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am,  and  I  am  not  at  all  ashamed  of  it,"  I 
returned.  "  My  baldness  has  been  honestly  ac- 
quired. I  have  not  lost  my  hair  in  dissipation, 
or  by  foolish  speculation,  but  entirely  through 
generosity  of  spirit.  /  have  given  my  Imir  to  my 
children."^ 

"  Gee !  "  he  ejaculated  with  fervor.  "  You  must 
have  the  d'lvde  of  a  large  family!  " 

I  made  use  of  that  incident  in  my  lecture  that 
night  as  a  convincing  demonstration  that  what- 
ever had  happened  to  the  humor  of  the  professional 
humorist,  as  a  natural  gift  of  the  American  people 
that  branch  of  humor  known  as  repartee  was  still 
running  strong. 

Intentionally  or  otherwise,  I  think  the  best  joke 
ever  perpetrated  upon  me  in  respect  to  my  lack  of 
272 


''Slings  and  Arrows" 

capillary  attraction  occurred  at  Bellingham,  in 
the  State  of  Washington,  up  near  the  Vancouver 
line,  back  in  1906,  when  I  made  my  first  trip  to  the 
Pacific  Coast.  I  was  the'  victim  that  season  of  a 
particularly  distressing  window  card,  got  up  in  a 
great  hurry  from  a  most  unsatisfactory  photo- 
graph, and  designed  to  arouse  interest  in  my  com- 
ing. It  greeted  me  with  grinning  pertinacity 
everywhere  I  looked. 

I  am  skeptic  on  the  subject  of  window  cards 
anyhow.  I  could  never  convince  myself  that 
printed  cuts  are  really  effective  instruments  of 
publicity,  and  I  vow  with  all  the  fervor  of  which  I 
am  capable  that  they  are  a  nuisance  and  a  trial  to 
what  the  public  call  "  the  talent."  I  also  know 
that  in  at  least  one  instance  they  bade  fair  to  work 
adversely  to  my  interests,  as  was  shown  in  a  letter 
received  by  me  many  years  ago  from  an  unknown 
correspondent  in  Kansas  City,  who  addressed  me 
thus : 

My  Dear  Sir. —  I  inclose  herewith  a  copy  of  a  so-called 
photograph  of  yourself  published  in  this  morning's  Kansas 
City  "  Star,"  and  I  want  to  know  if  you  really  look  like  that. 
The  reason  I  write  to  inquire  is  that  yesterdaj^  was  my 
little  boy's  birthday,  and  his  grandmother  presented  him 
with  a  copy  of  one  of  your  books.  I  have  n't  had  time  to 
read  the  book  myself;  but  I  have  taken  it  away  from  Wil- 

273 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

lie,  and  shall  keep  it  pending  your  reply,  for  if  you  do  look 
like  this,  you  are  no  fit  person  to  write  for  children. 

I  must  confess  that  a  single  glance  at  the  muddy 
reproduction  of  a  long  discarded  photograph  con- 
vinced me  that  my  naive  correspondent  was  not  a 
whit  more  careful  of  his  parental  responsibilities 
than  the  situation  justified.  I  might  readily  have 
passed,  if  that  photograph  were  accurate,  for  a 
professional  gambler,  or  a  highly  probable  future 
candidate  for  the  Rogues'  Gallery. 

But,  whether  the  platform  worker  is  helped  or 
retarded  by  this  indiscriminate  plastering  of  public 
places  with  his  counterfeit  presentment,  com- 
mittees seem  to  think  it  necessary,  and  we  there- 
fore provide  them  with  the  most  pulchritudinous 
pictorial  composition  that  Art,  unrestrained  by 
Nature,  can  produce. 

But  the  one  I  used  in  1906  was  a  most  unflatter- 
ing affair,  and  I  grew  heartily  sick  of  it  as  my  tour 
progressed.  At  Bellingham  it  was  oppressively 
omnipresent.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  erupted  all 
over  the  place.  It  greeted  me  in  the  railway 
station  when  I  descended  from  the  train.  Two  of 
them  hung  in  the  hotel  office  when  I  entered,  and  as 
I  walked  up  the  street  after  luncheon  I  overheard 
274 


"  Slings  and  Arrows  " 

sundry  unregenerate  youths  remark,  "  There  he 
goes !  "  and  "  That 's  him !  "  and  "  Oh,  look  who  's 
here !  "  dcrisivel}^,  until  I  could  almost  have  wrung 
every  juvenile  neck  in  town.  On  one  corner  I 
found  it  in  a  laundry  window,  labeled,  "  John  Ken- 
drick  Bangs  at  the  Normal  School  Tonight,"  and 
placed  immediately  beneath  this  was  a  brown  paper 
placard  inscribed  in  great,  red-chalk  letters  with 
the  words,  "HELP  WANTED."  Farther  up 
the  street  I  found  it  in  a  millinery  shop  window, 
pinned  beneath  a  composite  creation  of  Bellingham 
and  Paris  which  was  not  particularly  becoming  to 
my  pictorial  style. 

But  the  climax  was  reached  when  I  found  it  in 
a  drug-store  window,  where  the  window  dresser 
had  placed  it  over  another  placard,  the  advertise- 
ment of  a  well  known  patent  remedy.  My  picture 
covered  the  whole  of  the  patent  medicine  placard 
except  its  essential  advertising  line  at  the  bottom, 
and  as  I  stood  there  staring  at  myself  through 
that  plate  glass  window  my  grinning  countenance 
stared  back  at  me  unflinchingly,  and  underneath 
it  was  the  legend, 

HIRSUTERINE  DID  THIS  AND  WE 

CAN  PROVE  IT. 

275 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


In  gratitude  to  the  perpetrator  of  that  horrific 
joke  let  me  say  that  I  have  used  the  incident  as 
the  opening  anecdote  in  my  Sakibrlty  lecture  ever 
since,  and  I  really  believe  it  has  had  as  much  to  do 
with  making  me  persona  grata  to  my  audiences 
as  any  other  feature  of  my  discourse. 

A  tolerably  effective  arrow  that  struck  fairly 

on  the  bullseye 
of  over-self-ap- 
preciation came 
to  me  out  of  the 
r  dark  of  a  well 
p  intended  compli- 
ment in  a  prom- 
inent New  Jer- 
sey city  several 
year  SI  ago.  I 
had  lectured  be- 
fore a  fairly 
appreciative  au- 
dience, seated 
conspicuously  in 
the  midst  of 
which 


young 


was      a 
man 


276 


"Slings  and  Arrows" 

whom  I  recognized  as  the  very  courteous  and 
affable  room  clerk  of  the  hotel  at  which  I  was 
stopping.  He  and  his  friends  formed  a  nucleus 
of  appreciation  which  more  than  compensated  me 
for  the  barbed  glances  of  one  or  two  unwilling 
auditoa:'s  dragged  thither  reluctantly,  probably 
from  more  alluring  indulgences  in  bridge  or  draw 
poker  at  their  clubs.  Both  my  heart  and  head  ex- 
panded under  the  influence  of  their  continuous 
enthusiasm,  and  my  emotions  of  satisfaction  were 
intensified  when  on  my  walk  back  to  the  hotel  I 
heard  the  friendly  room  clerk,  stalking  just  ahead 
of  me,  exclaiming  enthusiastically: 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  he  'd  be  good?  By  George ! 
I  read  one  of  his  books  once,  and  I  've  wanted  to 
see  him  ever  since." 

It  was  all  very  nice,  and  I  hugged  the  pleasant 
intimations  of  his  remark  to  my  breast  all  through 
my  dreams  that  night.  But  the  morning  brought 
disillusionment,  and  a  mighty  poignant  shaft 
entered  into  the  soul  of  me.  After  eating  my 
breakfast  I  stepped  to  the  hotel  desk  to  pay  my 
bill,  and  was  there  beamingly  greeted  by  the  room 
clerk. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  he,  with  out-stretched 
277 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

hand,  "  that  was  a  fine  talk  you  gave  us  last  night, 
and  I  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it.  But  I  knew  it 
would  be  good." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I,  my  chest  expanding  a 
bit. 

"  I  've  only  read  one  of  your  books,"  he  went  on ; 
"  but  it  gave  me  a  lead  on  you.  I  don't  want  to 
flatter  you,  but  —  well,  it  teas  tlie  funniest  book  I 
ever  read,  and  I  've  been  wondering  if  you  would 
write  your  autograph  in  it  for  me." 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  not  only  willing  to  please  him, 
but  quite  anxious  to  see  which  of  my  books  it  was 
that  had  filled  him  with  such  enthusiasm. 

"  I  have  it  here,"  said  he,  taking  the  volume  out 
of  a  drawer. 

"  Good !  "  said  I.     "  Let 's  have  it." 

He  handed  it  to  me,  and  I  glanced  at  it.  It  was 
a  copy  of  Jerome  K.  Jerome's  "  Three  Men  in  a 
Boat,  not  to  Mention  the  Dog!  " 

"  No  flattery  at  all,"  said  I,  my  growing  conceit 
falling  back  to  par.     "  I  'm  glad  you  like  it." 

And  then  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  I- 

committed  forgery.     I  took  the  book  to  a  writing 

table  near  at  hand,  and  inscribed  the  flyleaf  with 

"  Appreciatively  yours,  Jerome  K.  Jerome."     And 

278 


''Slings  and  Arrows" 

as  I  left  the  hotel  the  last  sight  that  greeted  my 
eyes  was  my  kindly  deputy  assistant  host  study- 
ing that  inscription  with  a  look  of  extreme  bewilder- 
ment on  his  screwed-up  countenance. 

Apropos  of  this  incident  it  is  rather  curious  how 
frequently  my  name  and  that  of  Jerome  K.  Jerome 
have  been  confounded.  I  have  always  considered 
it  a  compliment,  and  I  sincerely  hope  Jerome  him-, 
self  will  not  mind  it.  I  suppose  the  identity  of  our 
initials  J.  K.  is  responsible  for  it,  and  possibly  the 
fact  also  that  Jerome's  "  Three  Men  in  a  Boat " 
and  my  own  "  House-Boat  on  the  Styx "  were 
published  at  about  the  same  time.  One  of  the 
most  amusing  incidents  based  upon  this  confusion 
of  identity  occurred  in  California  last  spring.  I 
was  spending  Easter  Sunday  at  that  remarkable 
hostelry,  the  Mission  Inn  at  Riverside,  feeling  that 
in  some  way  in  despite  of  my  deserts  I  had  got  into 
heaven,  and  quite  convinced  that  I  could  stand  an 
eternity  of  it  if  the  particular  atmosphere  of  that 
wonderful  Sunday  were  typical  of  life  there.  The 
inspiring  Easter  sunrise  service  on  Mount  Rubi- 
daux  was  over,  and  I  was  resting  comfortably  in 
the  office  when  a  young  woman  paused  at  my  side, 
and  said, 

279 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  You  will  excuse  me  for  speaking  to  you,  sir, 
but  your  face  bothers  me." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  INIadame,"  said  I,  "  but  it  has 
bothered  me  too  for  over  fifty  years." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  way,"  she  answere'd 
quickly.     "  I  mean  that  I  can't  place  it." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  trying  to  smile,  "  you  really 
don't  have  to.     It  is  already  located." 

"  But  I  don't  know  where  I  have  seen  it  before,'' 
she  pleaded. 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  I,  "  but  I  think  I  can  reassure 
you  on  that  point.  Knowing  myself  as  I  do  I  can 
assure  you  that  it  must  have  been  in  a  perfectly 
respectable  place." 

"  I  wish  you  would  stop  fooling,"  she  retorted, 
a  trifle  impatiently.  "  I  want  to  know  who  you 
are.  You  see  I  'm  of  a  rather  nervous  tempera- 
ment, and  when  I  see  a  familiar  face  and  cannot 
remember  the  name  of  the  individual  who  —  er  — 
who  goes  with  it,  sometimes  it  keeps  me  awake  all 
night." 

"  It  would  be  too  bad  to  have  that  happen," 
said  I,  "  and  inasmuch  as  I  am  not  at  all  ashamed 
of  my  name  I  shall  be  delighted  to  tell  you  what  it 
is.     It  is  Bangs  —  John  Kendrick  Bangs," 
280 


"  Slings  and  Arrows  " 

"  Oh  —  I  know,"  she  cried,  her  perplexity  fad- 
ing away,  "  You  are  the  man  who  wrote  '  Three 
Men  in  a  Boat.' " 

And  the  dear  lady  seemed  to  be  so  pleased  over 
the  honor  of  meeting  so  distinguished  an  author 
that  I  really  had  n't  the  heart  to  undeceive  her. 

I  have  always  thought  of  my  young  friend  the 
room-clerk  far  more  kindly  than  of  another  New 
Jersey  host  whose  airy  nonchalance  in  what  was 
to  me  a  moment  of  some  seriousness  struck  me  as 
being  almost  arctic  in  its  frigid  non-acceptance  of 
responsibility  for  untoward  conditions.  I  had  put 
up  over-night  in  his  jerry-built  hostelry,  and  all 
had  gone  well  until  breakfast  time.  I  was  seated 
at  table  enjoying  my  frugal  repast,  when  without 
warning  from  anybody  I  found  myself  the  sudden 
recipient  of  a  heavy  blow  on  the  top  of  my  head, 
and  upon  emerging  from  the  rather  dazed  psy- 
chological condition  in  which  the  blow  left  me  dis- 
covered that  I  was  covered  from  head  to  foot  with 
plaster,  and  that  my  poor  but  honest  poached  ^gg 
had  become  a  scrambled  one,  mixed  with  the  im- 
palpable dust  of  a  shattered  bit  of  molding. 

A  glance  heavenward  showed  whence  my  trouble 
had  come.  A  section  of  the  ceiling  about  four 
281 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

feet  square  liad  conic  loose,  and  had  landed  upon 
mc.  I  could  think  of  no  better  way  to  voice  my 
protest  against  such  an  intolerable  intrusion  upon 
my  rights  of  privacy  at  mealtimes  than  by  giving 
the  hotel  manager  an  object  lesson  then  and  there 
of  what  was  going  on  under  his  roof.  So  I  rose 
from  the  table  and  walked  directly  to  the  office 
just  as  I  was. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  said  my  host,  as  I  loomed  up 
before  him  like  a  glorified  ash  heap.  *'  What 's 
happened  to  you  ?  " 

"  A  part  of  your  condemned  old  ceiling  has 
fallen  on  me,  that 's  what !  "  I  sputtered  somewhat 
wrathfully. 

"  Oh,  that 's  it,  eh  ?  "  he  replied,  with  a  smiling 
grace  which  I  hardly  appreciated  at  the  time. 
"  Well,  we  don't  do  that  for  everybody,  Mr. 
Bangs,"  he  added ;  "  but  seeing  it 's  you  isoe  won't 
make  any  extra  charge." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  consideration.  "  I  'd  like 
to  buy  this  hotel,"  I  added. 

"  Well,  it 's  for  sale,"  said  he.  "  Like  to  run  it 
yourself  .'^  " 

"  No,"  said  I.     "  I  thought  it  might  be  some  fun 
to  buy  a  Panama  fan  and  blow  it  down." 
^2 


"  Slings  and  Arrows  " 

With  which  we  parted  forever.  I  have  returned 
to  the  gentleman's  bailiwick  several  times  since ; 
but  never  again  have  I  entered  the  portals  of  that 
hostelry,  for  fear  that  by  the  careless  dropping  of 
my  tooth-brush  or  a  cake  of  soap  I  might  cause 
the  complete  col- 
lapse of  the  struc- 
ture, with  the  pos- 
sible destruction 
of  innocent  lives ; 
though  if  I  were 
assured  that  in 
falling  it  would 
land  only  on  that 
landlord's  head  I 
think  I  would  will- 
ingly go  out  of 
my  way  to  hire 
an  aeroplane  some 
night  and  drop  a 
pebble  upon  its 
roof  from  a  height 
of  three  or  four 
feet.     This  is  not 

283 


Froin  Pillar  to  Post 

so  vindictive  as  it  seems,  cither;  for  it  would  not 
hurt  that  landlord  over-scverely.  You  could  drop 
a  much  heavier  weight  than  that  hotel  upon  any 
bit  of  solid  ivory  within  reach  without  hurting 
the  ivory  unduly. 

A  less  sordid,  and  indeed  wholly  inspiring,  in- 
cident along  similar  lines  occurred  three  years  ago 
at  Georgetown,  Texas,  when  on  a  terrific  night 
in  February,  which  I  shall  never  forget,  I  stood 
for  a  few  minutes  face  to  face  with  what  might 
have  proved  an  appalling  tragedy.  As  I  look 
back  upon  the  incident  now  it  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  at  once  the  most  thrilling,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  most  stimulating,  moment  of  my 
hfe. 

I  had  arrived  at  Georgetown  early  in  the  after- 
noon, and  simultaneously  with  my  coming  —  and, 
as  some  of  my  critics  may  intimate,  possibly  be- 
cause of  it  —  there  arrived  also  one  of  those 
dreaded  windstorms  known  in  that  section  of  the 
world  as  a  norther.  Perhaps  the  Texans  are  so 
used  to  these  outbursts  of  Nature  that  they  take 
them  as  all  in  the  day's  work;  but  to  myself,  un- 
used to  anything  more  boreally  disturbing  than  an 
occasional  nor'easter  on  the  Maine  Coast,  it  was 
284- 


"^Slings  and  Arrows'' 

extremely  disturbing.  I  did  not  dare  walk  on  any 
of  the  sidewalks,  fearing  that  the  loudly  rattling 
signboards  of  commerce  might  be  precipitated  upon 
me.  One  of  the  best  liked  literary  friends  of  my 
younger  days  had  passed  from  intellectual  bril- 
liance of  a  most  promising  sort  into  permanent 
mental  darkness  through  the  falling  upon  his  head 
of  a  swinging  sign  in  New  York,  and  I  had  come  to 
regard  such  possibilities  with  dread. 

The  Muse  and  I  consequently  spent  the  after- 
noon indoors  in  a  quivering  but  substantial  and 
well  kept  hotel,  whose  courteous  landladies  neither 
the  Muse  nor  I  will  ever  fail  to  remember  with 
affectionate  esteem.  As  I  rode  in  an  omnibus  to 
the  lecture  hall  that  night,  I  rejoiced  in  the 
heaviness  of  the  vehicle,  which  otherwise  must  have 
been  overturned  by  the  heavy  blasts  to  which  it  was 
subjected. 

When  I  reached  the  college  I  found  the  audi- 
torium on  the  third  floor  of  the  main  building  in 
almost  total  darkness,  the  only  light  coming  from 
an  oil  lamp  standing  on  a  piano  at  one  end  of 
the  stage.  The  wind  had  put  the  electric  light- 
ing apparatus  temporarily  out  of  commission ;  but 
students  were  at  work  upon  it,  and  I  was  assured 
285 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

that  all  would  be  well  if  I  would  defer  my  lecture 
for  a  little  while.  To  this  of  course  I  consented ; 
for,  however  pleasing  it  may  be  to  talk  to  one 
person  in  the  dark,  there  is  no  pleasure  in  address- 
ing a  multitude  of  people  into  whose  eyes  one  is 
unable  to  look. 

After  fifteen  minutes  of  waiting  the  electric 
lights  suddenly  gleamed  forth,  and  I  was  gratified 
to  see  before  me  an  audience  of  substantial  size, 
made  up  for  the  most  part  of  students,  with  a  fair 
proportion  of  the  townspeople  scattered  about 
here  and  there.  The  college  was  a  coeducational 
institution,  and  the  boys  and  girls  were  in  fair 
measure  paired  off  in  congenial  fashion. 

With  the  restoration  of  the  light  the  president 
of  the  college  stepped  to  the  front  of  the  platform 
and  presented  me  to  the  audience,  after  which  I 
rose  and  approached  the  footlights  to  begin.  But 
never  a  word  was  I  permitted  to  speak;  for  as  I 
started  in  the  howling  wind  outside  seemed  to  re- 
double in  its  fury  and  intensity.  There  came  a 
sudden  loud  grinding  and  ripping  sound,  and  a 
huge  part  of  the  roof  was  lifted  bodily  upward, 
and  then  dropped  back  with  a  crash.  One  heavy 
beam  fell  squarely  in  one  of  the  aisles  without 
286 


"Slings  and  Arrows" 

injury  to  any  one,  though  two  feet  off  on  either 
side  it  would  have  killed  the  occupants  of  the  aisle 
seats,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  great  room  big 
chunks  of  plaster  and  lathing  fell  in  upon  the 
audience. 

There  was  present  every  element  of  a  tragedy  of 
fearful  proportions  ;  but  from  that  assembled  multi- 
tude of  young  people  came  not  even  a  scream,  and 
on  every  side  I  saw  stalwart  young  Texans  of  To- 
day and  To-morrow  rise  up  from  their  seats,  and 
lean  over  the  girls  sitting  crouched  in  the  chairs 
he  side  them,  taking  all  the  weight  and  woe  of  that 
falling  ceiling  upon  their  own  manly  shoulders! 
It  was  a  magnificent  exhibition  of  readiness  of 
resource,  self-control,  and  unselfish  chivalry.  Al- 
most instantly  with  the  first  shock  the  president  of 
the  college,  with  a  calmness  at  which  I  still  marvel, 
rose  from  the  chair  behind  me  and  confronted  the 
gathering. 

"  Now,  my  young  friends,"  said  he,  speaking 
with  amazing  rapidity,  each  word  enunciated  as 
incisively  as  though  spoken  with  lips  of  chilled 
steel,  "  remember  —  this  is  one  of  the  emergencies 
you  are  supposed  to  be  trained  to  meet.  There  is 
no  telling  how  serious  this  situation  is ;  but  let  us 
287 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

have  no  panic.  Rise  and  walk  out  quietly,  and 
without  too  much  haste." 

The  youngsters  rose  and  marched  out  of  the  hall 
in  a  fashion  that  would  have  delighted  the  soul  of  a 
martinet  among  drill  masters,  down  three  flights  of 
stairs  to  the  campus,  silently,  and  without  the 
slightest  outward  manifestation  of  the  fear  that 
must  have  been  in  the  hearts  of  every  one  of  them. 

There  had  appeared  in  one  of  America's  best 
magazines  only  a  few  months  previously  a  scathing 
arraignment  of  the  young  American  of  To-day,  in 
which  the  girls  were  indicted  as  being  frivolous, 
lacking  in  self-control,  and  full  of  selfishness,  and 
the  American  boy  was  held  up  to  public  scorn  as 
knowing  naught  of  respect  for  authority,  and 
wholly  deficient  in  the  quality  of  chivalry  for  which 
the  youth  of  other  times  had  been  noted.  I  wished 
then  and  I  wish  now  that  the  good  lady  who  spoke 
so  witheringly  on  that  subject  could  have  witnessed 
what  I  looked  upon  that  night  in  Texas.  I  think 
she  would  have  modified  her  utterance  at  least,  if 
indeed  she  would  not  have  changed  her  point  of 
view  completely.  She  would  have  made  her  asser- 
tions less  sweeping,  I  am  convinced ;  for  she  would 
have  learned  from  that  episode,  as  I  have  learned 
288 


''Slings  and  Arrows'* 

from  my  contact  with  the  youth  of  this  land,  not 
only  in  Texas  but  elsewhere,  that  save  for  a  super- 
ficial element,  fortunately  not  very  large,  the 
American  youth  of  to-day,  boy  or  girl,  is  in  the 
main  a  strong-fibered,  self-controlled,  unselfish, 
chivalrous  product  which  would  be  a  credit  to  any 
nation,  anywhere,  at  any  time,  past,  present,  or 
future. 

In  conclusion  let  me  say  that  when  I  returned  to 
Georgetown  the  following  season  to  deliver  my 
undelivered  lecture  I  was  introduced  to  practically 
the  same  audience  as  "  the  man  who  brought  down 
the  house  without  even  opening  his  mouth." 

Which  shows  that  not  only  are  youthful  chivalry 
and  self-control  not  dead  in  Texas,  but  that 
American  humor  likewise  is  in  flourishing  condition 
in  that  truly  imperial  State  of  our  Union. 


289 


XV 

EMERGENCIES 

QUICK  thinking  on  and  off  the  platform  is 
quite  essential  to  the  happiness  of  the  man 
on  the  road.  The  sniping  fates  are  always  after 
him,  in  small  ways  as  well  as  in  large,  and  he  must 
keep  himself  in  a  state  of  constant  readiness  either 
to  dodge  their  flying  shafts,  or  with  some  suddenly 
devised  shield  of  resourcefulness  to  render  himself 
arrow  proof. 

Sometimes  the  successful  warding  off  of  a  flying 
missile  sped  from  the  bow  of  some  malign  goddess 
of  mischance  becomes  the  making  of  the  man,  as  in 
a  case  once  reported  to  me  by  a  gentleman  in 
Montana  when  after  my  lecture  at  Billings  he  and 
I  were  laughing  over  the  complete  capture  of  my 
audience  by  a  big  gray  tomcat  that  had  entered 
the  lists  against  me.  This  privileged  creature  had 
leaped  into  the  chair  immediately  behind  me,  and 
begun  massaging  his  face  in  true  feline  fashion,  to 
the  intense  delight  of  a  most  amiable  gathering. 
290 


Emergencies 

I  suppose  that  if  I  had  known  what  was  going  on 
behind  me,  I  should  have  tried  to  rise  to  the  oc- 
casion on  the  spur  of  the  moment ;  but  not  knowing 
it  I  read  on,  in  blissful  unconsciousness  of  the  fact 
that  a  series  of  living  pictures  was  flashing  across 
the  vision  of  my  audience  directly  to  the  rear. 
The  only  sensation  experienced  at  the  time  by  my 
innocent  self  was  one  of  supreme  pleasure  and  satis- 
faction that  my  audience  had  at  last  awakened  to 
the  beauty  of  my  discourse,  and  was  manifesting  in 
most  gratifying  fashion  its  appreciation  of  even 
the  subtlest  of  my  points.  When  at  the  close  of 
the  reading  the  real  truth  was  revealed  to  me  I 
merely  smiled,  and  never  for  a  moment  let  on  that 
until  the  chairman  spoke  of  the  animal  I  had  not 
suspected  its  presence. 

"  We  admired  your  composure,  Mr.  Bangs," 
said  the  chairman.  "  A  good  many  men  would 
have  been  rattled  by  such  an  intrusion  as  that ; 
but  you  went  right  on  without  a  break.  In 
fact,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  you 
were  better  after  the  cat  than  you  were  before  he 
came." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  I,  "  we  have  to  get  used  to  that 
sort  of  thing.  The  trained  lecturer  really  ought 
291 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

to  be  able  to  go  on  even  if  a  young  earthquake  were 
to  fall  upon  him.  Do  you  always  try  your 
lecturers  on  a  cat?  "  I  added. 

"Well,  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  that  way,"  he 
laughed ;  "  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  we  most 
generally  do.  That  cat  belongs  to  our  janitor, 
and  he  's  pretty  sure  to  turn  up  somewhere  during 
the  evening.  One  year  we  had  a  man  out  here 
giving  some  recitations,  and  I  tell  you  old  Tom 
helped  him  out  considerably.  He  was  rolling 
along  through  some  funny  speech  or  other,  when 
the  cat  jumped  upon  the  platform,  washed  liis  face 
two  or  three  times,  scratched  his  ear  for  a  minute, 
and  then  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  audience  he 
walked  straight  over  the  electric  footlights  to  the 
other  side  of  the  stage  and  disappeared.  The 
audience  roared  and  the  recitationist  stopped, 
gazed  with  mock  indignation  at  the  people  for  a 
second  or  two,  and  then  addressing  me  he  said, 
*  Mr.  Chairman,  I  understood  that  this  was  to  be  a 
monologue  —  not  a  catalogue.*  Of  course  it 
brought  down  the  house,  and  ever  since  then  that 
man  has  been  about  the  most  popular  number  our 
lecture  course  has  ever  had." 

As  a  standard  of  emergency  repartee  I  am  in- 
292 


Emergencies 

cllned  to  think  this  incident  sets  the  high-water 
mark. 

The  intrusion  of  four-footed  creatures  on  the 
line  of  vision  at  lectures  is  unfortunately  not  rare. 
Lecturers  have  no  terrors  for  mice  and  rats,  and 
just  as  every  hall  is  provided  with  a  janitor,  or 
janitrix,  so  is  every  caretaker  provided  with  a  cat, 
as  a  preventive  of  rodential  troubles.  I  have  got 
so  used  to  their  presence,  however,  that  I  no  longer 
bother  about  them.  As  long  as  they  leave  me 
alone,  and  hold  their  tongues,  I  am  content  to  have 
them  disport  themselves  as  they  please,  in  the 
public  eye  or  out  of  it.  But  a  dog  is  another 
proposition  altogether. 

Personally  I  like  dogs  better  than  I  like  cats ; 
but  for  platform  purposes  I  prefer  the  feline  to  the 
canine  intrusion.  One  knows  pretty  well  in  ad- 
vance what  a  cat  will  do ;  but  a  dog  is  a  most  un- 
certain quantity.  The  cat's  attentions  are  likely 
to  be  general,  or,  if  not,  centered  wholly  upon  his  or 
her  own  toilet  —  washing  her  face,  manicuring  her 
ears,  pursuing  her  tail  —  but  the  dog  too  fre- 
quently takes  a  direct  personal  interest  in  the  chief 
performer  of  the  occasion.  And  while  I  should 
never  think  of  attributing  critical  faculties  to  any 
^93 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

kind  of  dog,  thcj  sonietimcs  have  a  way  of  express- 
ing what  might  pass  for  opinions,  worthy  or  un- 
worthy, concerning  tlie  work  in  hand,  in  no  un- 
certain tones. 

As  evidence  of  this  I  recall  an  afternoon  devoted 
not  long  since  to  the  reading  of  one  of  Browning's 
exceedingly  difficult  masterpieces,  in  the  presence 
of  a  number  of  ladies  and  one  highly  intelligent 
Irish  terrier.  The  poem  was  Browning's  "  Christ- 
mas Eve  and  Easter  Day,"  full  of  beauty  and  of 
inspired  thought,  but  not  easy  reading,  and  re- 
quiring unusual  concentration  of  mind  to  get  out 
the  full  measure  of  its  charm.  My  small  audience 
was  most  appreciative,  and  as  I  approached  the 
climacteric  I  was  feeling  tolerably  well  satisfied 
with  the  results,  when  this  keenly  critical  terrier 
suddenly  rose  from  his  resting  place,  stationed 
himself  deliberately  before  me,  stretched  himself 
until  it  almost  seemed  that  one  could  hear  his 
bones  crack,  and  sent  forth  upon  the  mystery- 
laden  atmosphere  about  as  expressive  a  whining 
yawn  as  one  might  expect  from  the  Seven  Sleepers 
themselves,  all  rolled  into  one,  and  too  early 
awakened  from  their  slumbers  —  and  there  the 
"  climacteric  "  rests  to  this  day. 
294. 


Emergencies 

I  never  finished  the  reading,  and  what  had  been 
an  hour  of  higlilj  concentrated  mysticism  reached 
its  sixtieth  second  in  a  wild  roar  of  hilarious  re- 
lief. 

A  less  comfortable  moment  involving  a  canine 
intruder  occurred  at  Binghamton,  New  York,  back 
in  1898,  when  I  suffered  the  double  intrusion  of  a 
secret  society  initiation  going  on  overhead,  which 
may  or  may  not  have  been  made  interesting  to  the 
initiates  by  the  presence  of  the  proverbial  goat, 
and  the  sudden  appearance  upon  the  stage  of  a 
huge  bulldog  of  terrifying  aspect. 

Above  me  was  every  indication,  in  sound  at 
least,  of  a  wild  creature  *'  abounding  and  abutt- 
ing "  upon  the  whole  length  of  the  superimposed 
floor,  accompanied  by  muffled  yells,  presumably 
from  the  despairing  throats  of  brothers  elect. 
But  this  was  as  nothing  in  its  effect  upon  my  peace 
of  mind  to  the  sudden  development  of  that  bulldog 
in  our  midst.  He  came  in  through  the  open  door 
of  the  hall,  and  walked  deliberately  down  the  center 
aisle,  and  thence  up  the  steps  to  the  platform 
whereon  I  was  engaged  in  the  pleasing  occupation 
of  "  Reading  from  My  Own  Works."  Bright  as 
I  had  fondly  hoped  these  works  would  be  thought, 
295 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

they  immediately  went  dark  in  the  face  of  that 
undershot  jaw  with  its  gleaming  white  teeth,  the 
drooling  lip,  and  the  eager,  curious  eye  on  each 
side  of  the  squat  nose,  fixed  intently  upon  my  quak- 
ing self.  Whether  I  continued  to  read  or  merely 
extemporized  I  do  not  now  recall  —  in  fact,  I  really 
never  knew  —  I  simply  know  that  I  continued  to 
make  sounds  with  my  vocal  organs,  one  eye  on  the 
pages  of  my  book,  the  other  glued  to  the  lower  jaw 
of  the  intruder. 

The  latter,  after  satisfying  his  visual  percep- 
tions as  to  my  superficial  virtues  and  defects, 
seemed  to  find  it  necessary  to  satisfy  also  some 
inward  nasal  craving  to  settle  certain  lingering 
doubts  in  his  mind  as  to  my  right  to  bo  where  he 
found  me,  and  to  that  end  he  proceeded  to  place  his 
squat  nose  hard  up  against  the  calf  of  my  leg,  and 
to  sniff  vigorously. 

By  what  strange  mercy  it  was  that  I  did  not 
kick  him,  then  and  there,  with  results  that  I  hesi- 
tate even  now  to  dwell  upon,  I  don't  know.  The 
supremely  important  facts  are  that  I  did  rrot  kick 
him,  but  droned  quaveringly  on  through  my  work, 
and  soon  learned  happily  from  a  scarcely  sup- 
pressed snort  that  he  considered  me  too  contempt- 
^96 


Emergencies 

ible  for  further  attention.  He  departed,  going 
out  as  he  had  come,  through  the  open  doorway, 
and  left  me  again  in  control  of  the  situation,  if  not 
wholly  of  myself.  When  he  had  completely  faded 
into  the  outer  darkness  I  paused  and  said : 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  appreciate  deeply 
your  tribute  of  regard ;  but  let  me  tell  you  frankly 
that  I  prefer  flowers,  even  vegetables,  to  bulldogs. 
If  you  have  any  further  four-footed  tokens  of  your 
esteem  in  store  for  me,  I  beg  that  you  will  send 
them  by  special  messenger  to  my  office  in  New 
York,  or  by  mail  to  my  residence  in  Yonkers,  the 
address  of  which  you  may  secure  from  the  chair- 
man on  your  way  out  of  the  hall  at  the  conclusion 
of  my  reading." 

The  ultimate  results  of  this  incident  were  far 
from  happy.  I  naturally  told  the  story,  together 
with  some  other  amusing  details  of  my  visit  to 
Binghamton,  to  friends  at  my  club  later,  not  any 
more  in  confidence  than  they  are  related  here,  and 
as  good-naturedly  as  their  diverting  quality  ren- 
dered appropriate ;  and  the  fact  that  I  had  done 
so  coming  to  certain  Binghamtonian  ears,  I  was 
placarded  in  one  of  the  Binghamton  papers  as 
being  "  no  gentleman,"  "  an  ungrateful  guest," 
297 


From  Pillar  to  Post 


and  so  on,  ad  lib.,  in  consequence  of  which  Bing- 
hamton  and  I  no  longer  speak  as  we  pass  by. 

For  this  I  am  sincerely  sorry, 
but  none  the  less  must  rest  con- 
I  do  not  think  I  should 
care  to  return  there  even 
if  I  were  asked,  for  fear 
that  in  pursuance  of  their 
system  of  tribute  they 
might  try  my  courage 
upon  the  lineal  descendant 
of  that  goat 
above  stairs,  or 
possibly  upon 
some  actively  in- 
clined bull,  play- 
fully unleashed 
in  my  vicinity  as 
a  test  of  my  composure  if  not  of  my  good  manners. 
The  minor  matter  of  dress  is  frequently  the 
cause  of  emergency  calls  for  help  from  embarrassed 
lyceumites,  and  to  get  out  of  predicaments  in 
which  mistakes  of  packing  under  the  pressure  of 
hurry  place  us  sometimes  taxes  our  resources  to 
the  uttermost.  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle  once  told 
298 


"A    craving 
to  settle 

lingering  doubts  '^'—z 

as   to  my  right   to    be  tliere." 


Emergencies 

me  of  an  amusing  complication  along  these  lines 
by  which  he  was  confronted  in  a  New  Jersey  com- 
munit}^,  whither  he  had  gone  to  dine  with  and  ad- 
dress the  students  of  a  famous  school. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  scene  of  action  Dr.  Doyle, 
as  he  was  then  known,  discovered  to  his  dismay 
that  in  the  hurried  packing  of  his  suitcase  he  had 
forgotten  to  put  in  his  evening  coat.  Everything 
else  was  there ;  but  his  swallowtail  was  missing. 
Now  Sir  Arthur  is  not  only  a  distinguished  novel- 
ist and  story  writer,  but  is  a  particularly  punc- 
tilious and  tactfully  courteous  gentleman  as  well; 
and,  having  heard  stories  of  other  Britons  com- 
ing to  this  country  and  attending  functions  given 
in  their  honor  in  tweeds,  as  if  we  Americans  knew 
nothing  of  the  niceties  of  dress,  was  careful  always 
to  avoid  giving  offense  himself  by  similar  vagaries. 
So,  rather  than  seem  contemptuous  of  the  conven- 
tionalities on  this  occasion,  the  doctor  pleaded  a 
headache  as  his  excuse  for  not  appearing  at  din- 
ner, and  in  the  interval  of  time  thus  gained  trans- 
formed his  blue  serge  traveling  coat  into  a  per- 
fectly good  dinner  jacket,  or  Tuxedo,  as  some  do 
call  it,  with  properly  rolling  lapels,  by  cutting  off 
the  buttons  and  rolling  the  front  of  his  coat  back 
299 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

into  a  broad  lapel  effect;  pressing  the  resulting 
garment  into  stayable  shape  by  putting  it  between 
the  mattresses  of  his  bed,  and  lying  on  them  for 
an  hour. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  have  ever  found  myself  mas- 
ter of  any  such  wonderful  ingenuity  when  face  to 
face  with  a  similar  predicament;  but  in  Austin, 
Texas,  two  years  ago  I  suffered  from  a  condition 
that  for  the  time  being  seemed  quite  as  poignantly 
distressing. 

My  trunk  had  been  despatched  from  San  An- 
tonio to  Houston,  and  I  was  "  living  in  my  suit- 
case." With  only  twenty-five  minutes  to  spare 
before  I  was  due  upon  the  platform,  I  found  my- 
self without  shirt  studs,  and  at  the  moment  with- 
out anything  at  hand  to  use  as  an  acceptable  sub- 
stitute. A  hurried  visit  to  the  main  street  and 
some  of  its  tributaries  divulged  nothing  in  the 
nature  of  a  haberdashery  or  a  jeweler's  shop  that 
had  not  been  closed  for  the  night. 

I  was  in  a  terrific  quandary ;  but  the  Only  Muse, 
alwa^'s  a  resourceful  person,  reminded  me  of  Oli- 
ver Herford's  expedient  many  years  before  in 
using  in  a  similar  emergency  a  set  of  brass-headed 
manuscript  fasteners.  Fortunately  I  had  with 
300 


Emergencies 

me  several  bits  of  manuscript  that  were  held  to- 
gether by  these  useful  little  contrivances  —  small 
pieces  of  metal  with  shining  brass  caps,  backed  by 
flexible  flanges  to  hold  the  caps  in  place.  These 
were  inserted  in  the  buttonholes  of  my  shirt  in 
most  satisfactory  fashion,  and  in  a  few  moments 
as  far  as  externals  were  concerned  I  presented  as 
goodly  an  appearance  as  any  man  rejoicing  in  the 
effulgent  glory  of  three  lustrously  golden  studs. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  I  then  turned  to  put  on 
my  white  waistcoat,  only  to  discover,  alas !  that 
that  too  was  missing,  nor  was  there  any  sign  any- 
where of  any  other  kind  of  vest  that  could  do  duty 
convincingly,  or  even  acceptably,  with  a  claw- 
hammer coat.  Again  I  flew  precipitately  down 
the  stairs,  this  time  to  the  kindly  room  clerk  in  the 
hotel  office.  I  explained  my  predicament  to  him 
in  a  few  well  chosen  words,  ending  up  with: 

"  Have  n't  you  a  white  vest  you  can  lend  me?  " 
"  Certainly  I  have,"  said  he,  and  together  we 
repaired  to  his  room  in  quest  of  the  needed  gar- 
ment. He  soon  found  it,  and  I  returned  rejoicing 
to  my  room,  the  treasure  hugged  tightly  to  my 
breast ;  but  when  I  came  to  try  it  on  I  discovered, 
what  I  had  overlooked  in  the  agitation  of  the  mo- 
301 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

ment,  that  as  eight  is  to  thirty-two,  so  was  the 
room  clerk^s  fagade  to  mine!  I  could  get  into  the 
vest ;  but  no  compressor  ever  yet  invented  could  so 
adjust  my  physical  proportions  to  the  garment 
that  it  would  come  within  four  inches  of  meeting 
in  front. 

"  What  the  deuce  am  I  going  to  do  ?  "  I  cried, 
sinking  into  a  chair  in  despair. 

"  Slit  it  up  the  back,  and  I  '11  pin  it  on  you," 
suggested  the  ever-ready  Muse. 

"  But  it  is  n't  mine,"  said  I. 

"  Buy  it,"  said  she. 

In  an  instant  I  had  the  room  clerk  on  the 
telephone.  "  Will  you  sell  me  that  vest .'' "  I 
asked. 

"  Why  —  no,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  sell 
it." 

"  But  I  need  it  in  my  business,"  I  pleaded. 

"  Well,  you  've  got  it,  have  n't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  've  got  it  all  right,"  I  replied ;  "  hut  I 
can't  get  into  it  without  putting  a  yard  of  extra 
width  in  the  back.  Come  on  —  be  a  good  fellow 
and  sell  it  to  me,"  I  added  with  all  the  pathos  that 
I  could  summon. 

"  No,"  he  answered  with  a  chuckle,  "  no  —  I 
302 


Emergencies 

could  n't  sell  it  to  you ;  hut  1 11  give  it  to  you  with 
all  the  pleasure  vn  tJie  world!  " 

In  this  fashion  was  the  emergency  met,  and  I 
went  out  before  my  audience  that  night  on  time  in 
improvised  raiment  pinned  on  to  my  person,  "  a 
thing  of  shreds  and  patches,"  and  blazoning  as  to 
my  shirtfront  with  all  the  resplendent  gilt  of  three 
brass  tacks,  all  of  which  brought  vividly  to  my 
mind  the  words  of  Antonio  in  "  The  Merchant  of 
Venice  " : 

O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath! 

It  may  seem  to  the  casual  observer  that  such 
matters  as  shirt  studs  and  white  waistcoats  are  of 
too  slight  importance  to  worry  a  speaker;  but  a 
"  whole  date  "  was  once  saved  to  me  by  the  fact 
that  I  wore  a  high  silk  hat,  which  caused  a  kindly 
livery-stable  keeper  to  drive  me  eighteen  miles 
from  a  stranded  railway  train  through  a  blizzard 
to  the  town  of  my  destination,  because  he  judged 
from  my  hat  that  I  was  a  member  of  a  favorite 
minstrel  troupe  that  was  to  perform  there  the  same 
night.  When  he  discovered  that  I  was  only  one 
of  "  them  lecture  fellers,"  for  whose  free  tickets 
he  had  no  use,  he  was  terribly  disappointed. 
303 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

Anyhow,  an  audience  likes  a  man  to  be  wholly 
himself,  and  cares  little  for  a  speaker  who  modifies 
his  dress  according  to  his  ideas  of  how  they  wish 
him  to  look.  A  popular  and  prominent  candidate 
for  Governor  of  New  York  once  lost  a  large  num- 
ber of  votes  that  might  have  elected  him  because 
in  addressing  a  gathering  of  workingmen  at  an 
East  Side  rally,  the  night  being  insufferably  hot, 
he  took  off  his  coat  and  collar,  and  spoke  to  them 
in  his  shirt  sleeves.  The  men  were  deeply  of- 
fended. They  significantly  asked  if  he  would  have 
taken  off  his  coat  in  the  presence  of  a  fashionable 
uptown  audience,  and  would  have  none  of  his  pre- 
sumed assumption  that  they  were  any  less  worthy 
of  his  respect,  or  careful  of  their  own  dignity,  than 
his  so-called  smarter,  better-class  people. 

I  have  always  found  the  full  evening  dress  and 
high  collar  of  an  effete  civilization  wholly  com- 
fortable, and  wear  them  accordingly  wherever  I 
lecture,  whether  it  be  in  the  rarefied  social  atmos- 
phere of  high  academic  circles,  or  in  a  mining 
camp  where  there  dwell  possibly  rougher,  but  none 
the  less  genuine,  human  folk.  I  think  that  in  the 
latter  environment  indeed  it  is  a  positive  aid  to 
success  to  do  so ;  for  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
304 


Emergencies 

reduced  to  its  essentials  the  evening  dress  of  the 
modern  male  creature  is  really  a  funny  thing,  and 
in  an  evening  devoted  somewhat  to  humor  any  ele- 
ment that  is  in  even  the  least  degree  mirth-provok- 
ing does  not  come  amiss. 

Perhaps  the  most  overpowering  sense  of  being 
confronted  by  an  emergency  came  to  me  again 
back  in  1898  out  of  an  experience  that  turned  out 
to  be  critical  only  in  my  own  imaginings.  Most 
of  our  troubles  are,  I  fancy,  imaginary  —  purely 
psychological,  as  the  modern  phrase  has  it  —  but 
while  they  are  on  they  are  none  the  less  acute  for 
all  that.  On  the  occasion  of  which  I  write,  at  a 
more  than  feverish  moment  in  our  relations  with 
Spain  and  Cuba,  I  was  summoned  to  lecture  at  the 
attractive  little  port  of  Brunswick,  Georgia.  It 
was  here,  by  the  way,  that  I  first  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  my  name  on  a  hotel  bill  of  fare,  which  in 
the  platform  world  is  the  height  of  fame,  just  as 
in  the  theatrical  world  it  is  the  acme  of  distinction 
for  a  star  to  see  his  name  pasted  on  an  ash  barrel, 
or  spread  across  the  hoardings  of  a  ten-acre  lot 
full  of  tin  cans  and  other  undesirable  bric-a-brac. 
They  had  me  down  on  the  supper  bill  among  the 
hot  breads,  somewhat  like  this ; 
305 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

HOT  BREAD 

Tea  Biscuit.  Corn  Muffins.  Graham  Gems. 

Popovers. 

John  Kendrick  Bangs,  Casino,  To-night. 

But  that  was  not  the  Emergent  Moment  of 
which  I  would  speak.  This  came  later,  at  the 
conclusion  of  my  lecture,  when  a  young  man  who 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  street  was  scarcely  percepti- 
ble, intercepted  me  as  I  left  the  hall. 

"  Mr.  Bangs,"  said  he,  "  I  have  come  here  from 
Captain  Magnify  of  the  Samuel  J.  Taylor,  to  pre- 
sent his  compliments  to  the  skipper  of  the  '  House- 
Boat  on  the  Styx.'  The  captain  was  detained 
from  your  lecture  to-night,  to  his  very  great  re- 
gret; but  he  wishes  you  would  drop  all  formality 
and  join  him  at  supper." 

Knowing  neither  Captain  MagufFy  (the  name  is 
a  substitute  for  the  real  one)  nor  his  ambassador, 
I  thanked  the  latter,  saying  that  while  I  was 
grateful  for  his  courtesy  I  was  really  very  tired, 
had  much  work  ahead  of  me,  and  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused. 

"  The  captain  never  takes  no  for  an  answer," 
persisted  the  young  man.  "  He  will  be  terribly 
disappointed  if  you  don't  come,  and  as  a  matter 
306 


Euiergencies 

of  fact,  counting  surely  upon  your  good  fellow- 
ship, he  has  made  special  preparations  for  you." 

Unfortunately  —  or  fortunately,  as  it  later 
turned  out  —  among  other  serious  defects  in  my 
education  I  have  never  been  taught  the  firmer  uses 
of  the  negative.  I  have  never  been  able  to  say 
no  to  anybody  as  if  I  really  meant  it,  and  it  has 
involved  me  in  more  difficulties  than  I  care  to  re- 
cord here  or  elsewhere.  In  any  event,  my  regrets 
growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  Captain  Ma- 
guffy's  ambassador's  insistence  more  and  more 
marked,  the  sum  total  of  some  thirty-two  nega- 
tives soon  developed  into  one  positive  affirmative. 

"  All  right,"  I  said  finally,  "  I  '11  run  in  on  the 
captain;  but  only  for  a  moment,  just  long  enough 
to  shake  hands,  say  howdido,  and  get  back  to  bed. 
I  must  be  in  bed  by  midnight  as  a  matter  of  prin- 
ciple." 

The  ambassador  thereupon  assisted  me  into  one 
of  those  indescribable  one-horse  "  shays  "  that  seem 
to  sprout  in  the  vicinity  of  Southern  railway  sta- 
tions and  hotels  about  as  lushly  as  mint  in  the 
patches  of  the  Carolinas.  I  used  to  think  when  I 
was  a  resident  of  Yonkers  that  the  Hudson  River 
Valley  was  a  sort  of  hack  heaven,  whither  all  sorts 
307 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

of  deceased  vehicles  went  when  they  died ;  but  sev- 
eral tours  of  the  South  since  have  convinced  me 
that  that  idea  was  mere  presumption  on  my  part. 
The  South,  as  well  as  the  Hudson  River  Valley, 
fairly  burgeons  with  vehicular  antiques  that  would 
delight  the  soul  of  an  archaeologist  anxious  to  find 
the  connecting  link  between  the  carriages  of  the 
Caesars  and  those  of  Andrew  Jackson  and  his  suc- 
cessors up  to  the  merry  days  of  Hayes. 

The  particular  rattledy-bang  old  combination 
of  wabbling  wheels  and  hair-erupting  cushions  into 
which  I  was  ushered  was  drawn  by  a  white  horse, 
and  driven  by  a  colored  man.  The  horse  was  so 
very  white  that  it  could  hardly  be  seen  on  the  white 
coquina  roads,  and  the  negro  was  so  black  that 
he  was  equally  imperceptible  against  the  back- 
ground of  the  night;  so  that  I  seemed  to  be  float- 
ing through  the  night  enjoying  sensations  similar 
to  those  of  a  man  on  his  first  journey  in  an  aero- 
plane. The  whole  effect  was  eery  in  the  extreme, 
especially  as  we  drove  and  drove  and  drove,  and 
floated  and  floated  and  floated,  without  apparently 
getting  anywhere. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  I  became  terribly  uneasy. 
The  thought  flashed  through  my  mind,  "Why, 
308 


Emergencies 

here  you  are,  all  alone,  after  ten  o'clock  at  night, 
in  a  strange  country,  going  to  see  a  man  you  never 
heard  of  before,  in  company  of  an  individual  whose 
name  you  have  n't  asked,  and  whose  face  you  have 
seen  only  dimly  in  the  dark !  You  are  known  to 
have  several  hundred  dollars  in  your  pocket,  and 
nobody  under  Heaven  but  yourself  and  your  com- 
panion knows  where  you  are,  or  in  what  kind  of 
company."  It  really  seemed  time  for  a  diplomatic 
"  hedge." 

"  Where  is  Captain  Maguffy's  house .'' "  I  in- 
quired as  a  starter,  after  we  had  driven  for  an 
overlong  time. 

"  Newark,  New  Jersey,"  was  the  consoling  re- 
ply, but  soberly  made. 

"  Well  —  I  don't  feel  equal  to  a  drive  that  far," 
I  said  dryly.  "  I  supposed  when  I  accepted  this 
invitation  that  your  captain  was  living  around  the 
corner  somewhere." 

"  No,"  said  my  companion.  "  He  's  aboard  his 
boat  —  the  Samuel  J.  Taylor. ^^ 

"  His  boat? "  I  cried.  "  Oh,  come  now,  my 
friend  —  if  I  'd  known  that  - —  well,  really,  I  think 
we  'd  better  turn  back." 

"  Not  now,"  said  he.  "  We  're  almost  there." 
309 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  But  why  does  n't  the  captain  keep  his  boat 
closer  to  civilization?"  I  queried.  "Isn't  there 
room  for  him  closer  to  town  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  's  plenty  of  room  closer  to  town," 
replied  my  strange  acquaintance,  "  but  the  cap- 
tain prefers  to  be  closer  to  the  sea  in  case  he  needs 
to  make  a  quick  get-away.  He  and  the  govern- 
ment are  n't  on  the  best  of  terms.  Between  you 
and  me,  he  's  doing  a  little  stunt  in  filibusteri/ngy 
and  the  folks  up  at  Washington  are  getting  sus- 
picious." 

My  heart  sank  into  my  boots  and  then  re- 
bounded to  my  throat.  "  You  should  have  told 
me  all  this  before  we  started,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  I  should  have,"  said  he ;  "  but  —  well,  I 
was  afraid  if  I  did  you  would  n't  come,  and  the 
captain  told  me  not  to  come  back  without  you. 
What  he  says  goes  with  me." 

I  could  think  of  only  one  word.  The  simple 
term  kidnapped  flashed  across  my  mind,  and  then 
the  pleasing  little  phrase,  so  nice  for  a  headline, 
Held  for  Hansom,  burned  itself  into  my  nerve. 
The  beating  of  my  heart  sounded  like  the  muffled 
tread  of  that  invisible  steed  ahead  on  the  coquina 
road.  I  glanced  out  of  the  chaise  to  see  what  my 
310 


Emergencies 

chances  of  escape  might  be  in  case  I  made  a  break 
for  liberty,  and  saw  off  to  the  right  of  me  the 
lines  of  a  rotting  pierhead,  and  the  towering  masts 
of  a  huge  schooner  that  was  moored  to  its  decaying 
piling.  At  the  inner  end  of  the  pier  was  a  white- 
washed shed.  Everything  in  sight  except  the 
driver,  the  chaise,  and  my  future  looked  white  — 
a  ghastly,  ghostly  white  that  made  me  think  of 
all  the  tales  of  horrid  spooks  I  had  ever  heard. 
Here  the  carriage  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and 
a  tall  black  figure  loomed  up  from  behind  the 
shed. 

"  Did  you  get  him?  "  came  a  deep  bass  voice  out 
of  the  night. 

"  You  betcha !  "  was  the  reply  from  my  compan- 
ion. 

I  descended  from  the  carriage,  and  my  con- 
ductor led  the  way  along  the  rotting  stringpiece 
of  the  pier,  a  little  more  than  a  foot  wide,  the  chill 
waters  of  St.  Simon's  Sound  lapping  about  six 
feet  below  on  each  side,  and  the  dark  figure  from 
behind  the  shed  immediately  to  the  roar.  I  was 
completely  a  captive.  A  moment  later  we  came 
to  a  narrow  gangplank  leading  to  the  broad,  holy- 
stoned deck  of  the  schooner,  in  the  fore  part  of 
311 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

which  was  an  open  hatchway,  out  of  which  there 
streamed  a  steady  sliaf  t  of  yellow  light. 

"  Down  this  way,  please,"  said  my  companion 
as  we  reached  the  hatchway. 

Tremulously  I  followed  him  down  the  steps,  and 
in  a  moment  found  myself  —  in  the  prettiest,  dain- 
tiest, little,  white  and  gold  parlor  one  could  have 
hoped  to  find  anywhere  outside  of  a  mansion  de- 
signed for  a  Marie  Antoinette,  or  a  Madame  de 
Maintenon !  Everywhere  was  gold  and  white  — 
chairs,  walls,  table  —  and  set  in  the  panels  of  the 
walls  (built  in)  were  a  half-dozen  exquisite  little 
water-color  paintings,  all  in  most  perfect  keeping 
with  the  general  color  scheme  of  the  room ;  and  on 
each  side  of  a  door  leading  to  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment, impassive  as  two  bits  of  sculpture,  stood  two 
negroes  of  gigantic  size,  not  an  inch  under  six  feet 
in  height  —  two  veritable  genii  out  of  the  pages 
of  the  Arabian  Nights,  but  clad  in  blue  flannel 
coats  with  brass  buttons,  white  duck  trousers,  and 
glazed  white  hats  with  black  vizors. 

It  was  really  a  wonderful  picture ;  but  I  had 
hardly  had  time  to  take  it  in  when  from  behind  me 
again  the  bass  voice  of  the  figure  behind  the  shed 
broke  upon  my  hearing. 

312 


Emergencies 

"  Welcome,  O  Skipper  of  the  Stygian  House 
Boat,  to  the  Samuel  J.  Taylor!  "  it  said,  and 
quickly  turning  I  found  myself  gazing  into  the 
dark,  flashing  eyes  of  my  host.  If  the  white  and 
gold  cabin  had  amazed  me,  the  captain  completely 
took  my  breath  away.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
just  come  in  from  a  five  o'clock  tea  on  Fifth  ave- 
nue —  frock  coat,  dark  gray  trousers,  all  of  per- 
fect fit,  white  waistcoat,  lavender  tie  with  an  ex- 
quisite pearl  pin  stuck  carelessly  into  its  soft  folds, 
and  in  his  hand  the  very  latest  thing  in  imported 
high  silk  hats !  He  was  the  beau  ideal  of  your 
conventional  gentleman  of  society.  As  I  have 
said,  I  was  breathless,  and  consequently  speech- 
less, for  a  moment ;  but  I  did  manage  at  the  end  of 
a  few  seconds  to  blurt  out : 

"  Am  I  —  am  I  awake.  Captain.?  " 

"  Well  —  if  you  're  not,  we  've  plenty  of  room 
and  time  for  you  to  sleep  it  out,"  he  replied. 

"  But  this  cabin  —  this  saloon  —  these  —  these 
water  colors  !  "  I  went  on. 

"  A  little  fancy  of  my  wife's,"  said  mine  host. 

*'  She  fitted  it  all  up  herself.     The  water  colors, 

by  the  way,  are  all  her  own  work.     Rather  nice,  I 

think.     She  was  a  pupil  of  a  fellow  Centurion  of 

313 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

yours,  Mr.  ."     Here  he  mentioned  one  of  our 

famous  artists,  a  member  of  my  club,  and  a  painter 
of  rare  distinction. 

My  desire  to  get  away  had  become  less  keen ;  but 
I  deemed  it  wise  nevertheless  to  make  the  effort. 
I  still  needed  some  reassurance  as  to  my  safety. 

"  Well,  Captain,"  said  I,  "  it  has  been  a  pleas- 
ure to  meet  you,  and  I  hate  to  run ;  but  I  have  had 
a  hard  day  of  it,  and  I  'm  very  tired.  I  have  come 
just  to  shake  hands  with  you  and  say  howdido,  be- 
fore turning  in  for  the  night." 

"  Oh,  you  must  n't  go  until  you  have  broken 
bread  with  me,"  said  he. 

"  I  told  him  he  could  be  in  bed  by  twelve  if  he 
wanted  to,"  interposed  my  conductor. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  captain.  "  We  '11  live  up 
to  your  promise.  You  may  serve  the  supper  at 
once,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  two  genii  at  the 
door,  who  had  not  stirred  a  muscle  through  the 
whole  conversation. 

Then  began  the  service  of  a  supper  in  which  for 
the  first  time  I  tasted  the  joys  of  alligator  pears, 
the  sweets  of  real  grapefruit  made  into  salad,  the 
full  possibilities  of  Moro  crabs  a  la  Newburg, 
alongside  of  which  even  my  beloved  Maine  lobsters 
314 


Emergencies 

are  dull  and  dreary  reptiles,  and  of  many  other 
delightful  edibles  as  well,  with  my  choice  of  a  liquid 
refreshment  as  if  from  the  cellar  of  a  Lucullus  — 
and  through  it  all  the  captain  talked. 

He  told  me  of  his  interest  in  the  Cuban  struggle 
for  independence ;  how  he  had  gone  first  to  Havana 
as  correspondent  for  an  American  newspaper  with 
a  decided  leaning  toward  Spanish  interests ;  how 
he  had  resigned  rather  than  write  the  kind  of  ma- 
terial his  chiefs  demanded. 

He  told  me  then  how  he  had  at  last  decided  to 
help  the  Cuban  cause  with  arms,  and  with  what 
money  he  had ;  how  he  had  chartered  this  lumber 
schooner  and  gone  ostensibly  into  the  lumber 
business  to  cover  his  real  activities ;  and  how  every 
time  he  set  out  from  Brunswick  laden  with  lumber 
consigned  to  some  other  port  he  always  took  time 
to  run  over  to  Cuban  waters,  and  carry  weapons 
and  ammunition  to  the  insurgents. 

"  And  what  has  Uncle  Sam  had  to  say  to  all 
these  activities  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  's  getting  a  little  suspicious,"  laughed  the 

captain.     "  Once  I  thought  he  'd  got  me,  too.     I 

had  a  thousand  rifles  and  ten  thousand  rounds  of 

ammunition  in  hand  for  the  boys,  the  other  day 

315 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

and  while  I  was  being  towed  out  to  sea  by  a  tug 
the  Vesuvius,  which  had  been  watching  me  for  sev- 
eral days,  fired  a  shot  across  my  bows  and  stopped 
me.  They  sent  a  search  party  aboard  —  and  I 
tell  you,  sir,  they  were  a  mighty  thorough  lot ! 
There  was  n't  a  nook  or  cranny  of  the  Samuel  J. 
Taylor  those  fellows  did  n't  turn  inside  out.  Not 
an  inch  from  topmast  to  keel  escaped  the  official 
eye ;  but  they  found  nothing,  and  I  was  allowed  to 
go  on." 

"  But  how,"  said  I,  "  did  you  manage  to  conceal 
the  stuff?  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  simple,"  laughed  the  captain. 
"  They  went  through  the  Samuel  J.  Taylor  with  a 
fine-tooth  comb;  hut  they  forgot  to  search  the  tug. 
We  transferred  the  guns  later,  and  forty-eight 
hours  afterward  they  were  in  the  hands  of  the 
Cubans." 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Captain 
Maguffy  delivered  me  at  my  hotel. 

"  Good-by,  Captain,"  said  I.  "  For  a  few  mo- 
ments I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  kidnap  me  — 
and  now,  by  George!  my  only  regret  is  that  you 
didn't!" 

He  laughed  heartily.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you 
816 


Emergencies 

really  mean  that,  come  back  on  board.     /  think  it 
can  he  arranged.*^ 

But  freedom  was  too  sweet,  and  besides  I  had  to 
make  my  living;  so  I  reluctantly  bade  the  captain 
good  morning,  and  have  thought  of  him  affection- 
ately ever  since. 


517 


XVI 

A  PIONEER  MANAGER 

NO  record  made  by  a  grateful  pen  of  the  joys 
and  trials  of  the  lecture  platform  could  be 
complete  without  some  reference  to  the  spiritual 
benefits  made  possible  by  the  profession  of  "  Gad 
and  Gab,"  as  Mr.  Strickland  Gillilan,  the  astute 
author  of  "  Off  Ag'in,  On  Ag'in,  Finnigin,"  him- 
self a  happy  worker  in  the  vineyard  of  peripatetic 
eloquence,  calls  it,  in  the  matter  of  friendships. 
Both  as  a  producer  and  as  a  consumer  of  the  plat- 
form product  I  have  been  the  beneficiary  of  many 
friendships  and  acquaintances  that  I  now  hold 
among  the  cherished  memories  of  my  professional 
life.  As  I  think  of  them  now  they  rush  in  upon 
me  with  such  tidal  force  that  I  find  myself  unable 
for  lack  of  space  to  treat  of  them  in  this  volume, 
and  they  must  be  left  for  other  pages.  And  yet  in 
the  light  of  grateful  reasoning  it  becomes  clear  that 
I  should  not  close  this  portion  of  my  story  with- 
318 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

out  some  reference  to  one  splendid  soul,  to  whom 
primarily  I  owe  all  the  happiness  in  this  line  of 
human  effort  that  it  has  been  my  privilege  and  my 
blessing  to  enjoy,  James  B.  Pond  —  the  good  old 
major,  who  during  his  long  and  busy  career  as  an 
organizer  and  manager  was  guide,  mentor,  and 
friend,  always  faithful,  always  true,  to  the  Man  on 
the  Platform.  He  was  a  big  man  in  every  way, 
physically  as  well  as  spiritually.  The  only  misfit 
about  him,  if  there  were  any,  perhaps  was  in  the 
size  of  his  heart,  which  was,  I  suspect,  too  large 
even  for  his  gigantic  frame.  If  any  man  was  ever 
born  to  be  a  pioneer  in  any  kind  of  human 
endeavor  requiring  tenacity  of  purpose,  scru- 
pulous integrity,  courage  in  the  face  of  trial, 
tolerance  of  the  shortcomings  of  others,  and  a 
dogged  insistence  upon  "  quality,"  that  man  was 
Major  Pond,  and  he  looked  it. 

If  I  were  a  painter,  and  wanted  a  model  for  one 
of  those  sturdy  Americans  who  were  not  afraid  of 
anything,  and  went  out  into  the  wilds  of  a  new 
and  dangerous  country  with  all  the  zest  of  a  boy 
on  the  trail  of  a  fox,  to  hew  by  main  strength  a 
way  that  civilization  might  follow  in  his  train,  I 
should  seek  no  further  than  that  huge,  strengthful 
319 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

figure,  massive,  graceful  even  in  its  ungainliness, 
surmounted  by  the  frank,  vigorous,  hewn  face 
that  from  its  deep-set  eyes  flashed  determination 
and  kindliness  always.  Somehow  or  other  Major 
Pond  always  made  me  think  of  the  days  of  Forty- 
nine,  and  when  he  first  dawned,  or  I  should  perhaps 
better  say  loomed,  on  the  horizon  of  my  life,  I  be- 
gan first  to  sense  the  smallness  of  a  mere  library 
as  a  world  in  which  to  live,  and  to  think  of  those 
vast,  remoter  stretches  where  men  did  not  read  and 
write  romances,  but  lived  them. 

My  first  contact  with  Major  Pond  was  as  a  con- 
sumer of  the  things  he  had  to  sell,  and  I  came  soon 
to  learn  that  the  stamp  of  his  approval  was  the 
hallmark  of  excellence.  The  major's  imprint 
upon  a  circular  was  enough  for  me,  and  in  several 
years  of  our  relation  as  buyer  and  seller  he  never 
failed  me;  and  the  merest  cursory  glance  at  the 
list  of  men  and  women  for  whom  he  stood  sponsor 
in  the  lyceum  field  shows  why.  It  was  a  marvelous 
galaxy  of  humans,  many  of  them  now  passed  im- 
perishably  into  the  pages  of  history,  for  whom  the 
major  did  yeoman  service  in  this  country, 
beginning  with  Wendell  Phillips,  Charles  Sumner, 
and  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  and  ending  with  Mat- 
320 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

thcw  Arnold,  Henry  M.  Stanley,  Julia  Ward 
Howe  and  that  Prince  among  men,  the  never-to- 
be-forgotten  John  Watson,  dear  to  the  hearts  of 
readers  everywhere  as  Ian  Maclaren. 

The  service  of  the  manager  of  the  Major  Pond 
type  was  not  a  mere  perfunctory  business  service 
only,  but  was  of  a  more  or  less  intimate  personal 
nature  as  well.  The  major  was  not  content  to 
make  a  booking  for  a  eelebrity  at  some  distant, 
well  nigh  inaccessible  point,  and  then  shoot  him  out 
into  the  dark  unknown  to  take  care  of  himself,  and 
get  along  as  best  he  might.  On  the  contrary,  he 
went  along  himself  when  he  could,  and  what  hard- 
ships were  to  be  faced  he  shared,  and  those  that 
might  be  staved  off  by  a  little  kindly  care  and 
foresight  he  shielded  his  people  from.  It  was  thus 
that  he  built  up  not  only  the  most  notable  list  of 
lecturers  the  world  has  yet  known,  but  at  the  same 
time  surrounded  himself  with  a  circle  of  gallant 
friends,  who  came  to  tliink  of  him  with  rare  affec- 
tion. 

This  intimate  personal  contact  with  men  of  un- 
usual distinction  gave  him  a  fund  of  reminiscence 
that  was  a  never-failing  source  of  delight  to  his 
friends.  To  Mr.  Gladstone,  Pond's  stories  were 
3^1 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

so  tremendously  appealing  that  during  one  of  the 
major's  visits  to  London  the  great  British  states- 
man requested  permission  to  have  a  stenographer 
take  them  down  just  as  they  fell  from  the  lips  of 
the  picturesque  old  American.  Concerning  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  and  Mark  Twain  the  major  could 
talk  forever,  and  the  little  sidelights  his  fund  of 
anecdote  concerning  them  cast  upon  the  person- 
ality of  these  two  men  were  invariably  appealing. 

Worn  by  the  nervous  strain  of  a  hard  bit  of 
lecturing  before  the  major's  own  friends  and  neigh- 
bors one  night  many  years  ago,  I  w^as  privileged 
to  sit  and  gather  refreshment  and  peace  of  mind 
in  the  joy  of  one  of  the  major's  reminiscent  mono- 
logues lasting  well  into  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning,  with  which  he  regaled  me  upon  my  return 
to  his  hospitable  house.  I  was  unhappily  con- 
scious of  not  having  done  my  work  particularly 
well  that  night  —  in  fact  I  had  had  to  lecture  from 
a  manuscript,  which  is  always  fatiguing  both  to 
speaker  and  to  audience,  and  I  hardly  dared  ask 
the  major  what  he  thought  of  my  performance  — 
but  after  awhile  in  his  fatherly  way  he  broached 
the  subject  himself. 

"  It  was  a  good  lecture,  Bangs,"  he  said,  "  and 
322 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

some  day,  majbe,  you  will  find  time  to  make  it 
shorter." 

"What  is  a  good  lecture,  Major,  anyhow?"  I 
asked,  hoping  that  from  such  an  authority  as  he 
must  by  now  have  become  I  should  get  some  clue  to 
a  possible  short  cut,  if  not  to  success,  at  least 
away  from  failure. 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed. 
"  That  reminds  me.  Bangs,"  said  he.  "  Maybe 
you  'd  like  to  know  what  Horace  Greeley  con- 
sidered a  good  lecture  —  at  any  rate  it  is  the  only 
answer  to  your  question  that  I  know.  Greeley 
and  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  I  were  on  our  way 
to  Boston  once,  and  as  we  passed  through  Bridge- 
port, Connecticut,  Greeley,  glancing  out  of  the 
car  window,  said,  *  Hello,  here  's  Bridgeport,  the 
home  of  P.  T.  Barnum!  Nice  town,  Beecher.  I 
gave  a  successful  lecture  here  once.' 

" '  What  do  you  call  a  successful  lecture, 
Greeley  ?  '  asked  Mr.  Beecher. 

"  '  Why,'  said  Greeley,  '  a  successful  lecture  is 
where  more  people  stay  in  than  go  out.*  " 

As  for  the  major's  relations  with  Mark  Twain, 
there  was  always  so  much  of  the  spirit  of  prank- 
some  boyhood  in  them  both  that  their  days  to- 
323 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

gcthcr,  when  Clemens  was  so  bravely  working  to 
clear  off  the  indebtedness  of  the  publishing  house 
that  he  had  unnecessarily  but  chivalrously  as- 
sumed as  his  own,  must  have  been  something  of  a 
romp,  despite  the  unquestioned  hardships  of  such 
persistent  travel. 

As  a  specimen  of  the  playful  spirit  in  which  the 
two  men  went  at  their  work  I  recall  a  story  told 
me  that  night  by  the  major  of  how  in  a  far  west- 
ern State,  owing  to  a  delayed  train,  they  were  kept 
waiting  on  a  railway  station  platform  for  several 
hours. 

"  Look  here.  Pond . '  said  Clemens  after  much 
dreary  waiting.  "  You  may  not  know  it,  but  this 
is  a  violation  of  our  contract.  You  agreed  to 
keep  me  traveling,  and  this  ain't  traveling :  it 's 
just  nothing  but  pure,  cussed  condemned  loaf- 
ing!" 

"  All  right,  Mark,"  said  the  major.  "  Just  a 
second  and  I  '11  fix  you  out." 

The  major  walked  up  to  the  end  of  the  plat- 
form, where  there  was  an  empty  baggage  truck 
standing  in  front  of  the  baggage  room  door.  This 
he  pushed  along  to  where  Clemens  was  standing, 
and  then  picking  the  humorist  up  in  his  arms  he 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

put  him  on  board  the  truck  and  wheeled  him  up 
and  down  the  platform,  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
gathered  natives,  until  the  train  came  in,  thus 
filling  his  contract  to  the  letter,  as  was  his  in- 
variable custom. 

Nor  shall  I  ever  forget  the  major's  delightful 
characterization  of  the  platform  work  of  Matthew 
Arnold. 

"  Arnold  spoke  from  a  manuscript,"  said  he. 
"  It  was  a  printed  affair,  done  in  large  letters  on 
ordinary  cap  paper,  and  bound  up  in  a  portfolio. 
This  he  insisted  on  having  on  an  easel  at  his  right 
hand.  After  bowing  to  his  audience  he  would 
fasten  his  eyes  on  the  manuscript  and  then  turn 
and  recite  a  sentence  from  it  to  the  people  in  front. 
Then  he  would  go  back  to  the  manuscript  again, 
corral  another  sentence,  and  recite  that.  And  so 
it  went  to  the  end  of  the  show  —  and  all  in  a  voice 
that  nobody  could  hear!  " 

The  major  paused  a  moment,  and  chuckled. 

"  General  and  Mrs  Grant  attended  the  first 
Arnold  lecture  at  Chickering  Hall,"  he  said. 
"  The  place  was  packed ;  but  I  got  them  seats, 
well  back,  but  the  best  there  were.  After  Arnold's 
lips  had  been  moving  without  a  sign  of  a  word  that 
225 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

anybody  could  hear  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  the 
General  turned  to  Mrs.  Grant  and  said,  '  Well, 
my  dear,  we  've  seen  the  British  Lion  at  least ;  but 
inasmuch  as  we  cannot  hear  him  roar  I  guess  we  'd 
better  go  home ! '  Grant  was  known  as  the  silent 
man,"  continued  the  major;  "but  Arnold  gave 
him  a  pointer  on  how  a  man  could  be  silent  and 
talking  at   the   same  time." 

The  major  was  a  great  believer  in  the  value  of 
Author's  Readings  by  what  he  used  to  call  "  run- 
ning mates,"  — teams,  as  the  vaudevillains  have  it. 
He  had  had  great  success  with  such  combinations 
as  Mark  Twain  and  George  W.  Cable,  Thomas 
Nelson  Page  and  F.  Hopkinson  Smith,  and  Bill 
Nye  and  James  Whitcomb  Riley.  Trotting  in 
double  harness  had  proved  in  these  cases  most 
profitable  for  every oody  concerned,  and  the  major 
was  constantly  in  search  of  new  alliances.  How 
his  ordinarily  sane  judgment  ever  came  to  be 
warped  to  such  point  that  he  could  think  of  me  in 
such  a  connection  I  cannot  even  pretend  to  surmise ; 
but  it  did  happen  that  in  the  mid-nineties  of  the 
last  century  he  began  singing  a  siren  song  in  my 
ears,  to  which  in  an  hour  of  greed  and  weakness  I 
3'ielded,  the  burden  of  whose  refrain  was  that 
326 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

R.  K.  iNIunkittrick  of  Puck,  a  man  with  a  rare  gift 
of  buoyant  humor,  and  I  could  make  a  fortune  for 
everybody  if  we  would  only  consent  to  "  trot " 
together. 

I  had  no  particular  illusions  as  to  my  abilities ; 
but  the  fact  that  Major  Pond  believed  I  could  do 
it  was  enough  for  me.  If  the  Gaekwar  of  Baroda 
should  ever  assure  me  that  a  cracked  bit  of  Pitts- 
burg plate  glass  was  a  diamond  of  fairest  ray 
serene,  I  should  be  inclined  to  think  there  was 
something  in  it  so  long  as  he  was  n't  trying  to  sell 
it  to  me,  and  so  when  Major  Pond  was  willing  to 
stake  his  professional  reputation  on  it  that  Mun- 
kittrick  and  I  would  make  a  highly  acceptable 
platform  constellation  it  was  not  for  me  to  refuse 
to  twinkle. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  experience.  The 
horrors  of  it  were  such  that  the  Day  of  Judgment 
itself  have  possessed  small  terrors  for  me  since. 
We  were  tried  out  at  Albany,  New  York,  before  an 
audience  of  sixty  people,  in  an  auditorium  capable 
of  seating  three  thousand.  Everything  seemed  to 
go  wrong,  and  on  our  way  up  to  Albany  INIunkit- 
trick managed  to  catch  a  cold  which  left  him  terri- 
bly hoarse  upon  our  arrival  at  the  old  Delavan 
327 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

House  in  New  York's  capital  city.  To  overcome 
tliis  hoarseness  Munkittrick  bought  a  box  of 
troches  of  a  well  known  brand,  but  instead  of  tak- 
ing one  or  two  of  them  he  devoured  the  whole  box 
in  about  twenty  minutes,  as  if  they  had  been  gum- 
drops  or  marshmallows,  with  the  result  that  his 
tongue  began  to  swell  up,  and  by  eight  o'clock 
when  we  were  due  on  the  platform  that  essential 
factor  of  clarity  of  enunciation  was  "  too  big  for 
the  job,"  if  I  may  so  put  it,  occupying  not  less 
than  seven-eighths  of  the  available  space  inside  of 
Munkittrick's  mouth,  aU  of  which,  combined  with 
the  natural  nervousness  of  a  debut,  put  us  quite 
out  of  commission. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  we  should  never  have  gone 
out  upon  the  platform ;  but  we  did,  and  while  the 
chairman  was  announcing  to  the  scattered  multi- 
tude in  front  that  we  were  the  greatest  combina- 
tion of  wit,  eloquence,  and  humor  the  world  had 
ever  known,  not  even  excepting  Nye  and  Riley, 
who  had  so  often  delighted  Albany  audiences  in 
the  past,  Munkittrick  and  I  sat  there  quivering 
with  fear,  not  even  daring  to  look  at  each  other. 
I  do  not  believe  that  even  the  Babes  in  the  Wood 
themselves  looked  upon  their  prospects  with 
328 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

greater  dread.  It  was  an  awful  evening;  so  awful 
that  before  it  was  over  a  frivolous  reaction  set  in 
which  I  truly  think  was  the  only  thing  that  enabled 
us  to  push  it  through  to  the  bitter  end. 

Of  course  it  was  a  failure.  We  knew  that  al- 
most before  we  began ;  but  It  was  borne  in  upon 
us  at  the  end  by  the  fact  that  the  chairman,  who 
had  invited  us  to  join  him  in  a  little  supper  after- 
ward to  meet  a  few  of  his  friends,  vanished  as  if 
the  earth  had  opened  up  and  swallowed  him,  and 
not  a  crumb  of  his  supper  or  the  hem  of  his  gar- 
ment did  either  of  us  ever  see  again.  Fortunately 
we  had  been  paid  in  cash  before  we  went  out  upon 
the  stage.  If  it  had  not  been  so,  or  had  we  been 
paid  by  a  check  on  which  payment  could  have  been 
stopped,  I  doubt  if  either  of  us  would  have  realized 
a  penny  on  the  transaction.  Moreover,  I  did  not 
venture  to  call  upon  the  major  for  at  least  a  week, 
and  even  then  my  meeting  with  him  was  merely 
casual.  I  bumped  against  him  on  the  street  in 
front  of  his  office  in  the  Everett  House. 

"  Hello,  Bangs  !  "  said  he.  "  Have  a  good  time 
at  Albany?" 

"  Fine !  "  said  I.  "  The  town  is  full  of  charm- 
ing people." 

829 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  Well  —  I  'ni  glad  somebody  enjoyed  it,"  said 
the  major. 

"  Any  more  bookings  ?  "  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  the  major,  with  a  far-away  look  in 
his  eye.  "  Fact  is,  old  man,  times  are  sort  o'  hard, 
and  after  thinking  the  matter  over  I  've  decided 
that  I  guess  we  'd  better  put  off  our  drive  for  new 
business  until  —  well,  until  some  other  season." 

And  that  was  all  the  chiding  I  received  from 
that  kindly  soul! 

Several  years  elapsed  before  I  resumed  profes- 
sional relations  with  Major  Pond,  and  the  incident 
that  brought  about  that  resumption  has  always 
seemed  to  me  to  be  most  amusing,  and  to  bring  out 
in  vivid  colors  the  quality  of  the  major's  temper. 
Indeed  it  was  about  as  illuminating  a  little  farce- 
comedy  as  one  would  care  to  see. 

It  happened  that  somewhere  about  the  beginning 
of  this  century  I  was  invited  to  prepare  for  a 
New  York  newspaper  syndicate  a  series  of  satirical 
biographies  of  prominent  personages  of  the  day. 
The  series  was  called  "  Who  's  What  and  Why  in 
America."  I  was  doing  a  great  deal  of  other  work 
at  the  time,  and  the  managers  of  the  syndicate  fell 
in  readily  with  my  expressed  view  that  lest  my 
330 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

name  should  seem  to  appear  too  frequently,  and  in 
too  many  competing  quarters,  it  would  be  best 
that  for  this  venture  I  should  use  a  pseudonym.  I 
therefore  did  the  work  over  the  pen  name  of 
Wilberforce  Jenkins.  The  series  was  very  well 
received,  and  for  over  a  year  was  one  of  the  most 
popular  syndicate  features  running,  as  a  result  of 
which  Wilberforce  Jenkins  began  to  receive  a  great 
many  letters  from  a  great  many  people  —  so  many 
as  almost  to  make  me  personally  jealous  of  his 
growing  fame.  Among  other  communications  re- 
ceived was  one  from  Major  Pond,  which  ran  some- 
what like  this: 

New  York,  March  12,  1901. 
Wilberforce  Jenkins,  Esq. 

Dear  Sir. —  I  have  been  reading  with  a  great  deal  of  in- 
terest your  sparkling  biographies  of  the  Men  of  To-day  in 
the  New  York  "  Blank."  I  don't  want  to  flatter  you,  but 
you  have  more  real  humor  in  your  thumb  than  all  the  rest  of 
the  funny  men  of  the  day  rolled  into  one  have  in  their 
million  and  a  half  fingers.  Have  you  ever  considered  the 
desirability  of  using  your  gifts  on  the  lecture  platform?  If 
you  have,  let  me  know.  If  you  can  talk  half  as  well  as  you 
write,  you  will  be  a  winner.  Come  and  see  me  some  day 
and  talk  it  over.  I  think  we  can  do  business  together. 
Very  truly  yours,  James  B.  Pond. 

The  situation  w^as  too  rich  to  neglect,  and  I  re- 
solved to  have  a  little  innocent  fun  with  the  major. 
331 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

I  repaired  almost  immediately  to  the  telephone  and 
rang  him  up.     The  connection  made,  I  inquired: 

"Is   this   Major  Pond?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.      "  Who  are  you.''  " 

"Major  J.  B.  Pond  of  the  Pond  Lyceum 
Bureau.''"  I  continued. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  Major  Pond.  Who 's  this  talk- 
ing.'' "  he  answered. 

"  I  am  Wilberforce  Jenkins,  the  Who  's  What 
and  Why  man,  Major,"  said  I. 

"  Well  —  say,  old  man,"  said  he,  with  a  pleas- 
ant touch  of  enthusiasm  in  his  voice,  "  I  'm  mighty 
glad  to  hear  from  you.  That 's  A-1  stuff  you  are 
running  in  the  Blank.     Did  you  get  my  letter.''  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  That 's  why  I  am  ringing  you 
up." 

"  Good !  "  said  he.  "  Ready  to  talk  turkey,  are 
you  ?  " 

"Well  —  I  don't  know  about  that,  Major," 
said  I  hesitatingly.  "  Of  course  I  know  who  you 
are,  and  the  kind  of  things  you  do ;  but  —  well,  to 
be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  don't  know  whether  I 
want  to  do  business  with  you  or  not." 

"Oh!"    said   the   major.     "That's   it,   is   it.? 
Well  —  what  seems  to  be  the  matter.''  " 
332 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  said  I.  "  Only  I  was 
talking  with  a  man  about  you  the  other  day,  and 
from  one  or  two  things  he  said  — " 

"  What  did  he  say?  "  the  major  blurted  out. 

"  Well,  to  begin  with,  he  said  you  were  an  old 
palaverer,"  said  I.  "  He  intimated  that  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  what  you  might  call  hatwork  in  the 
quality  of  your  conversation.  He  said  he  'd  done 
business  with  you  once,  and  while  he  liked  you 
personally  you  were  not  all  you  seemed  to  think 
you  were  as  an  impresario." 

"  Who  the  deuce  ever  told  you  that  ? "  de- 
manded the  major.  "  You  say  he  did  business 
with  me  once?  " 

"  So  he  said,"  said  I.  "  And  he  was  pretty  out- 
spoken about  it  too.  He  told  me  his  tour  with  you 
was  a  rank  failure." 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  his  name,"  said  the  major, 
and  I  could  almost  hear  the  dear  old  gentleman 
biting  into  the  wire. 

"  Well,  I  guess  he  would  n't  mind  my  telling," 
said  I.  "  There  was  n't  anything  particularly 
confidential  about  our  talk.  His  name  is  Bangs 
—  John  Kendrick  Bangs." 

My  name  came  back  at  me  over  the  wire  like  an 
833 


From  Pilla?'  to  Post 

explosion  of  dynamite.  "  Bangs!  "  retorted  the 
major.  "Good  Lord  —  Bangs!  Docs  he  call  a 
trip  up  to  Albany  and  back  a  tour.?  /  guess  he 
was  a  failure!  I  can  tell  you  things  about  Bangs 
as  a  platform  performer  that  '11  show  you  mighty 
quick  whose  failure  it  was,  and  if  you  want  to 
bring  him  along  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say  on  that 
subject,  bring  him.  The  idea!  My  Heavens,  old 
man  —  why,  he  — " 

"Oh,  never  mind  all  that.  Major,"  said  I. 
"  I  'm  only  telling  you  what  he  said.  I  don't  have 
to  take  it  all  as  gospel  truth,  you  know." 

"  Well  I  guess  notl "  snorted  the  major. 

"  Now  I  'm  very  busy  these  days,"  I  continued, 
"  and  I  really  have  n't  got  time  to  go  to  your  office  ; 
but  if  you  will  take  lunch  with  me  to-morrow  at  tlio 
Century  Club,  about  one  o'clock,  we  can  talk  this 
thing  over." 

"  I  '11  be  there,"  said  the  major.  "  One  o'clock 
sharp,  and  meanwhile  if  you  run  across  J.  K.  tell 
him  with  my  compliments  that  he  can  go  to  thun- 
der.    Tour!     I  like  that !  " 

"All  right.  Major,"  said  I.     "Don't  fail  me." 

And   there   our   telephone   conversation    closed. 
The  following  morning  I  arranged  at  the  club  to 
334 


A  Pioneer  Mcmager 

have  the  major  ushered  into  the  reception  room  in 
case  he  called  and  asked  for  Wilberforce  Jenkins, 
and  as  the  hour  approached  I  lingered  around  to 
see  the  fun. 

Faithful  to  the  minute  the  major  arrived  at 
one  o'clock,  inquired  for  Mr.  Jenkins,  and  was  re- 
quested to  wait  in  the  reception  room,  since  Mr. 
Jenkins  had  not  yet  come  in.  After  he  had  been 
sitting  there  for  about  five  minutes  I  decided  that 
the  time  for  action  had  arrived;  so  I  walked  into 
the  reception  room  myself. 

"Why  —  hello,  Major!"  said  I,  as  cordially 
as  I  really  felt.     "  How  are  you  these  days  ?  " 

"  I  'm  all  right,"  he  said  coldly,  ignoring  my 
outstretched  hand. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  that  that 's  any  of  your  business, 
Bangs,"  said  he,  bridling  up ;  "  but  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  I  've  come  to  meet  a  man  who  when 
it  comes  to  writing  real  humor  has  got  you  skinned 
eight  billion  miles." 

"  Good !  "  said  I.  "  Who  is  this  eighth  wonder 
of  the  world.''  " 

"  His  name,"  said  Major  Pond,  "  is  Wilberforce 
Jenkins." 

835 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

«  Oh,  Lord !  "  said  I.  "  That  faker?  Well,  I 
am  at  least  glad  to  know  what  your  standards  of 
humor  are." 

"  Faker?  "  retorted  the  major.  "  You  seem  to 
have  some  gift  for  saying  nice  things  about  your 
friends,  Bangs,"  he  added  witheringly. 

"  Friends  ? "  said  I,  with  a  laugh  of  scorn. 
"  You  don't  call  that  idiot  Wilberforce  Jenkins  a 
friend  of  mine,  do  you?  You  must  think  I  let  my- 
self go  pretty  cheap." 

"  Well,  he  seemed  to  think  you  were  a  friend  of 
his  —  at  least  he  told  me  so  —  but  of  course  a  man 
may  be  mistaken  in  respect  to  that,"  he  observed 
significantly. 

"  Well,  don't  you  believe  a  word  he  says. 
Major,"  said  I.  "  I  know  Wilberforce  Jenkins  all 
the  way  through,  and  he  and  truth  are  n't  upon 
speaking  terms.  You  say  he  has  invited  you  here 
to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  To  take  lunch  with  him,"  said  the  major. 

"  Well  of  all  the  pure  unmitigated  nerve!  "  said 
I.  "  That  shows  you  what  sort  of  fellow  Jenkins 
is.  Why,  Major,  he  is  n't  even  a  member  here! 
He  has  a  ten-day  card  from  me ;  but  that  does  n't 
entitle  him  to  invite  you  or  anybody  else  here. 
336 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

You  'd  better  come  upstairs  and  have  lunch  with 
me." 

"  I  '11  starve  first!  "  said  the  major. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  I.  "  If  you  won't,  you 
won't ;  but  I  '11  bet  you  five  dollars  right  now  that 
Wilberforce  Jenkins  does  n't  come !  " 

"I  don't  bet,"  said  the  major.  "I  gave  up 
gambling  after  that  toivr  of  yours  up  to  Albany 
and  back.     It  does  n't  pay." 

I  retired  to  a  writing  table  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  and  pretended  to  be  busy  at  letter  writing 
for  some  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  keeping  one  sly  eye 
on  the  major  the  while.  He  was  visibly  chafing. 
Now  and  then  he  would  take  out  his  watch,  and 
gaze  intently  into  its  telltale  face.  Then  he  would 
rise  and  inspect  the  pictures  on  the  walls.  When 
half-past  one  came  and  there  was  no  Wilberforce 
Jenkins  in  sight  his  patience  was  manifestly  near 
its  end,  and  regarding  that  as  the  psychological 
moment  I  again  approached  him. 

"  '  He  cometh  not,  she  saidi'  "  I  quoted  in  my 
most  plaintive  tones.  "  And  what 's  more.  Major, 
he  won't  never  be  here.  He  never  kept  a  promise 
or  an  engagement  in  his  life.  Come  along  — 
change  your  mind  and  take  lunch  with  me." 
337 


From  Pillar  to  Post 

"  /  would  n't  lunch  with  you  if  — "  he  began. 

And  then  I  burst  out  laughing.  I  could  not 
carry  the  farce  a  bit  further.  "Major,"  said  I, 
"  the  reason  why  I  know  all  about  this  Wilberforce 
Jenkins  and  his  general  unreliability  is  very  sim- 
ple —  /  am  Wilberforce  Jenkins  myself. '' 

The  old  gentleman  gasped.  His  face  was  r 
study  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  a  great  laugh 
he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  seized  me  by  the  arm. 
"  Here,  Bangs,"  he  said,  "  get  your  hat  and  come 
along  with  me !     We  '11  eat  at  Delmonico's." 

"But  you  said  just  now  you  wouldn't  take 
lunch  with  me,"  I  protested. 

"  Yes,  but  by  Simeon,"  he  retorted,  "  /  never 
said  that  you  would  n't  take  lunch  with  me,  and  by 
the  Eternal  you  'II  come  or  I  'II  carry  yon!  " 

And  the  only  hatchet  that  ever  threatened  our 
friendship  was  buried  on  the  instant. 

Major  Pond  was  indeed  a  rare  and  a  loyal 
spirit.  He  always  credited  James  Redpath  with 
being  the  Father  of  the  Modern  Lyceum,  and  per- 
haps he  was  right.  The  Modern  Lyceum  owes 
much  to  James  Redpath ;  but  as  for  me  I  prefer  to 
award  its  paternal  honors  to  Major  Pond.  His 
interest  in  it,  and  his  affectionate  attitude  toward 
338 


A  Pioneer  Manager 

those  he  helped  along  its  sometimes  rugged  path, 
were  too  strictly  fatherly  to  warrant  any  lesser 
title  at  the  hands  of  one  of  its  most  grateful  sons. 


THE    END 


339 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-42»i-8/49(B5573)444 


mt  T-K1   -w  -rem  4  T>-xr 


HI     Bangs  - 

4058   Prom  pillar  to 

Bk;2A2  post 


PN 

4058 

B22A2 


rili!;,?.^!iltl™  RfGio^AL  I  iRRAPv  c,.,^,^ 


>*>*    000  410  240 


